Churning

She sat Indian-style on the barcalounger 

clacking her castanets, singing, 

“what have you drawn me today?” 

He could only watch 

as she twisted and swiveled in the seat 

as if churning butter with her hips 

and he thought about when he had been 

seasick on the ferry

and wished for mountains. 

Now, he had all the heights he ever wanted 

just outside their home 

but could only watch 

his heart twist in a figure-eight pattern 

to the sound of castanets and laughter.