Two Left Feet
The honky-tonk band cranked its twang, rhythm pounding through the planks,
and I stood frozen there, terrified to move,
my boots rooted like I’d grown roots,
everyone else spinning past in some effortless country blur
while I remained a statue carved from pure panic.
He crossed the floor before I could bolt,
his smile cracking the whole thing open—
took my hand and I laughed, the nervous kind,
the kind that says I’m terrified and thrilled and yours.
His palm was warm. Steady. Mine wasn’t.
We stepped and stumbled, tangled and fell apart,
laughed so hard the words blurred,
forgot the steps, forgot everyone watching,
forgot to be anything but here.
The music wrapped us in its lazy, golden spin,
and I stopped counting the missteps,
stopped cataloging the fumbles,
just let his grip pull me through another turn.
Two left feet, the whole room probably knew.
Two left feet, and I’d never felt less like running.
Two left feet, finding their own crooked rhythm,
swaying in the amber light with a boy who never asked me to be graceful.
Just to be his.