She scrunches up her face and bites her lip,
as if the music is coming from deep inside her,
Gallops in a figure eight around the seats in the living room.
We watch her perform
oooing and ahhing,
joining in because her four year old body inspires us.
She can’t help it;
it’s her song and it’s within her and it requires movement!
Her expressions remind me of those years spent in my mother’s basement
blasting music so loud that the upstairs floor vibrated to the bass lines and drums,
while I—
I danced improv shows for make believe audiences,
knowing I was born to move my body like that and no one could tell me otherwise.
I hear her delightful squeal, when the chorus bursts through the Bluetooth speakers
and I can’t help but squeal with her.
Her head tilts in my direction and I raise from my chair.
We gallop around—
two dancers united by DNA, swaying to the rhythm of our song.
