A Disco Dancer

I learnt to dance by watching my father - a true blue disco dancer.

My dad taught me how to dance. I will always be grateful for his moves.

the disco ball
shines like a diamond
a million glittering diamonds
enveloping the man 
who is dancing amongst its fragmented lights

he is surrounded by friends, drunk
on alcohol or life
I cannot tell

I see him laughing, 
teasing, cajoling women
lovingly embracing his wife
who does not shy away

in this moment
there is no past or future
there is only now
the now of music and lights
the now of his happy wife
the now of life
a moment he has snatched 
in time, just for himself

I am not in this memory of his
but he is in mine

this is my father
the life of the party
dancing under the moonbeams
of light and shadow

this is my father
neither young nor old
beads of sweat lining
his temple
eyes closed
as the music changes
rhythm, picks up pace

now I see him
now I don’t

My father, dancing through the decades

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This poem came as a surprise! A response to a prompt at the

Ochre Sky Stories

Writing Circle. I was always scared of poetry and that fear will never fully die. But maybe I can embrace it in a flawed, rough-around-the-edges kind of way.

This is how I will always see my father - the life of the party, always found at the center of the dance floor. Thanks Dad, for showing me how it’s done.

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If reading this stirred a memory, I would love to hear it. Drop in a comment or an emoji that suits your mood :)

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