Her small foot tapped the stained carpet,
then self-conscious, she crossed her legs.
But her foot continued bouncing
in the air, covered by a faded slipper.
Arthritis inhibited her movement, but not much,
from years of pointy-heeled style.
I nestled next to her arm, smelling her lotion
and the scented pouches from her closet.
The Statler Brothers warbled country gospel
from the TV, and my extended
family gathered in the den to listen,
sing along, and clap. One stood,
bowed low before my great-grandma,
asked her for a dance.
Her toes paused the rhythm, questioning,
but her smile accepted. Focus turned from
“Noah Found Grace in the Eyes of the Lord” to
the slow-dancing woman and son-in-law.
My mom laughed with tears in her eyes
as the song ended, and we applauded
for our elderly Cinderella
with wrinkled feet and terrycloth slippers.
The Statler Brothers’ bass singer rumbled,
“Don’t go away, ‘cause we ain’t even started yet.”