Crouched in the stairwell
cloaked in shadows
I watch my mother
in the kitchen
waltz
Her faded housecoat
cinched tight
around soft waist
flaps against varicose legs
One-two-three-one-two-three-one-
Arms embracing air
she swirls
Her fuzzy pink slippers flip-flopping
half a beat
behind
Edith Piaf on the radio in
three-four time
Huffing and puffing
She twirls
around uncleared table
Toes dance with yesterday’s crumbs
She spins
and sees me.
Her face flushed
eyes bright
She smiles
forgets to cover with apologetic hand
her missing tooth
“Listen to her sing,” she beams
“It must be a very sad song!” and she waltzes away
as the kettle whistles
off-key
