Twist

Before his bath he does the naked dance.

My husband and I

hold his one-year old hands,

sing and dance the Twist.

Our boy laughs loud,

kicks his meaty legs,

slams his feet into the floor,

and shakes his bare butt.

Only his father and I look ridiculous,

off-key voices, outdated moves.

The boy is gorgeous

the way wood fire is gorgeous.

His skin nearly translucent

over the sharp blades of his ribs,

his hair wild and copper in the bathroom light,

all four teeth flash white and strong.

What fortune to have this moment.

One day he won’t think this is fun.

He’ll wrap a towel around his waist

walk fast to the shower.

 
So I start the dance again,

twist and shout,

raise my arms and sing in praise

of this great sliver of time,

praise god and this radiant boy.

Angela Howe-Decker