We had a party
Sunday, May 31, 2009
and our friends came—wearing cowboy boots, bearing an ice cream cake, and balancing a bowl of potato salad on one hand, like some Grecian goddess. They are dancers, these friends, with dancer-brand intelligence, and so the night was a song, a salsa mix, the bolero of a story Tirsa told. I am, I remain, a person on the edge. Watching and loving with a full and complicated heart.
