Joy in Missteps

The music hits and my feet don’t know

where to go—stumbling over beats,

a wild, crooked rhythm.

Sweat beads on my forehead,

arms flail like branches in a storm,

not graceful, but free.

I spin, catch balance then lose it,

a breath sharp and loud,

a laugh spilling out,

a reckless kind of joy.

Around me, amused faces,

but I’m caught in the clumsy freedom,

not caring if I’m offbeat,

just alive in the mess of motion,

breaking out, breaking loose,

badly, fully, without shame.