I’ve Been Collecting This to Tell You

The Grip

14 t h e g R i P you grasp my right forearm with your left hand and, left with little choice, i fist my dream-hand around your arm, just below the elbow. At first, we pose in place, lifting a leg high, shifting weight to the other foot, music-box ballerinas, the grip what keeps us from tumbling. Then we move: your foot arcs over to lift mine, and we come close, chest to chest, your leg supporting mine. We each have all our weight in one knee, each adjusting to the minute adjustments the other makes. When we do let go, your fingers will be white marks on me. There is no romance in this dance just balance, the way two skaters will hold hands to keep themselves up, when, just as easily, they could pull each other down. ...