in the back of his closet, under her dusty clothes
lies a worn-out record
it's got scratches and a crumpled post-it note with her loopy handwriting
she wrote it on their tenth anniversary
she signed with exes and o's and a dark red outline of her lips
he traces his thumb around the radius of the record
he remembers the words of the song to which he first saw her dancing
in that musty cafe on that rainy night
her long brunette hair swinging in the disco light
was the first thing to catch his eye
and later her clumsy toes stepping on his
her energy outweighed the lack of dance skill she had
that night, he fell asleep with that song ringing in his head
and that night he knew he'd dance to that song with her for the rest of his life
the first slow dance at their wedding was to the rapid disco beat, and they laughed at the absurdity
they taught their daughters the lyrics before they taught them to speak
when she bought him the original record it sat in their kitchen and it played every night
it was the same song that played on her death bed
he held her limp hand and he whispered the words to her
the lyrics were his last words to her
he didn't know if she heard them or not
he traced his finger along the record in the back of his closet, under her dusty clothes
and he remembered her dancing