I prepared for the school dance
the dress pressed
a boudinair for his lapel
dancing to songs in advance
all the dreams of youth
bursting forward and coming soon. 

Twirling and swirling, over and again. 

Yet Dad grew sick early that morning.
A fever first caught our attention. 
His quiet mornings had been clues
as he cradled his aching head in folded arms. 
These were the days before the actual
tumor was first detected, the pain present
but the malady silent and lurking. 
To the hospital we went and waited. 

Twirling and swirling, over and again. 

We sat next to him, playing the television, 
laughing nervously, and watching for doctors.
A rerun of Lawrence Welk began, and so did memories. 
My sisters and I danced to long-forgotten songs 
floating like flowers in lapels at school dances
Dad our handsome beau, slowly smiling then gently singing.

Twirling and swirling, over and again.