Phili pa Dancing
There’s no one else there, only the radio and the cat comfortable between the pot plants. No one is telling her to be careful on the stairs, to remember her stick, to sit down and they’ll bring her a cup of tea. The kitchen is astir with the sun that gleams into corners. It polishes the toes of her slippers as she jigs from table to sink, from sink to dresser, tea towel across her shoulder a bandolier declaring her independence. She knows that if they were spying on her through the corner window they would think her reliving the dance hall nights of her youth, but she is seizing today in a jubilation of steps.