Dancing In High Heels

by Marisa Cimbal

After Nancy Krygowski


She’s knitting a sweater, she’s dancing the jitterbug with me,
she’s wearing a colorful pants suit hiding her deformity. She’s playing
canasta and mahjong. She’s shuffling the cards, singing
you are my sunshine. She’s polishing my nails, brushing my hair, saying she’s proud
of me. She’s turning 85. She’s calling from Florida, saying
it’s humid and sweaty. She’s writing a letter saying she’s making
me a hat, what color should it be, she’s missing me. She’s sitting at the pool, swatting
flies, baking sugar cookies. She’s shopping at Publix using a cane. She’s reading
Danielle Steele, line dancing, watching Jeopardy. She’s washing
her clothes with Clorox, hanging them in the shower. She’s wearing
red lipstick, waving at the airport, saying she’s not
what she used to be. She’s cooking pot roast with potato pancakes, moving
very slowly. She’s telling my boyfriend to marry me, she’s giving
him a ring. She’s in a wheelchair, singing songs, smiling. She’s telling
stories of her youth, saying she wants me to be happy. She has a feeding tube, she’s saying
it’s OK, she’s not hungry. She’s asking mom to let her go, she’s barely speaking. 
She does not remember me. I see her in my dreams – she’s dancing
in high heels and she’s finally free. 


* * * * *

Marisa Cimbal lives in Hoboken, New Jersey with her husband and dog, Elsa, and is the mother of twin daughters. She works in New York City in healthcare communications and is now fulfilling her dream of being a poet and a writer of nonfiction. Most recently, her work has appeared in Children, Churches and Daddies, Rat’s Ass Review, Sad Girls Literary Magazine, The Ravens Perch, Humans of the World and forthcoming in The Academy of the Heart and Mind.