It’s Latino Queer Night at Pulse or Steps Ahead of Tragedy
When we dance, we both lead.
My tía laughs when I tell her
I don’t know how to dance.
Not every song’s a cumbia.
We feel the sas-sas beat
in our bellies, but our
four left feet tangle, swivel in
too close because that’s where our
hearts long to be.
Who cares that we both lead,
that our pant legs meet
at the same crease.
Our shoes don’t care
whose foot takes the first
Music slows smooth,
our feet find peace.
Prince rains purple a toda macina.
The next tune is faster.
Something from two decades ago.
We know that dance, our dance.
We tilt back our heads and moon walk.
Eyes closed our slick chests, his hairy,
mine a slippery mop of sweat, find each other.
In this light, music pounding, hands uplifted,
no one cares that two fine mariposas and
four left feet spread wings and dance.
Copyright 2016 by Melinda Palacio. All photos used under the “fair use” proviso of the copyright law.