through the window…

through the window he could see her dancing in the kitchen…not with a partner…no man…just herself…shakin’ her hips slowly to a saxophone…believe it was Coltrane…moving effortlessly ‘cross a linoleum floor…barefoot and a brown belly pushin’ outta midriff tank top …breasts covered barely by thin gossamer with chains of gold and silver swayin’ back and forth…back and forth…as if placed there long ago by magic…pure magic…a loving kind…nothing fake…just love…love…

she had a smile on her chocolate face…red lips silently singin’ words…,These are a few of my favorite things…,and she poured maroon wine into a short glass and drank from the cup…drank as if she wanted it…needed it…craddeling the base with both hands…and the music and the wine and the dancing and her hips moving to choppy notes as his lust grew and grew…wanting her more now than ever…more than on that night years ago when he first met her inna bar on the Southside of town where jazz went down and white smoke filled the room…all while young men wrestled with acts of machismo and old men patiently waited their turn…knowing that the tortoise always wins the race…

she was a kid back then…thirsty for experience…wanting to be taught ’bout life…swept off her feet…shown more than a good time…wanting love and in that love a suffering…a suffering that would make her a better artist…to be taught that the dance is slow…painful…and to do it right took time and practice…time and practice…

the old man watched her that night as he watched her on this night…with want in his eyes…an old ghost from the past waiting to dance again…with her…with her…only her…

through the window he could see her dancing in the kitchen…not with a partner…no man…just herself…shakin’ her hips slowly to a saxophone…believe it was Coltrane…

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