Mom is losing her mind.
How many mothers have become unmoored?
Travel once more– a place in South America,
named Argentina, but not the real Buenos Aires
since I am surprised to find tango in the bars.
It is a place I am discovering. Latin men in bars
and music. I dance with a young man briefly.
(we will meet again, and kiss)
Stiff, as we being to move, loosening.
Forget the steps, follow the warmth
between our bodies. The dance unwhirls.
The room fills.
The scene changes.
The dream continues
in the city streets, which I explore, motivated.
A brazilian bar, food, dance.
Brazil, a man tells me
is a 5 hour plane ride away.
From here, a place like Argentina but on the west coast.
I continue, looking down on a group of woman
who begin to dance. Once whirls, free with pleasure,
moving in a circle with the other women
Could I be more like her?
Letting go, owning my passion.
I continue down the street,
searching for the pulse, the places to dance.
Paula is behind me. We have a camera.
Path and point of view, I explain.
Speaking spanish briefly
with a man who beckons then disappears.
My family, my father– are around, somewhere.
It is cold outside.
I am going to the gym.
Stopping at the Apple Store to write this first.