Mid March through April Being Best for Planting

I am longing to dance
in a hall where young womyn have
hair wrapped brown and black
in ribbons and the
music is sharp sharp
with click click
of booted heels
belt buckles clack together
when the dancers meet in
the middle

old womyn are there too with hair
tied back in gray bunches – wide hips:
they dance with men
whose limbs have brittled,
clothes made of cotton for better breath
and movement

But those places are country places

and here

we forget/forgo the things
which keep our feet so close
to the ground
I forget how to blush/flushed cheeks
in the small white twinkle lights
of a country dance with feet shuffling
and heels clicking to the suck suck
in of breath and sheepish adolescent love
which shirks through a field of corn,

harvest moons hang low
and neil young is so circa 1980