The party sputters alive
Its glowing streamers weaving in and out of each other.
Gypsies,
Dressed colorfully in costumes and flowing skirts,
Snake around each other,
Scattering amongst themselves and gathering.
They dance in a blur,
Wild, like they’d never dance again in their lives.
They dance as if they are weightless,
Coiling their flimsy bodies
As if they were one, joined, out-of-control slinky.
They tease each other and take turns trying to out-do each other.
As I watch this,
My eyes light up,
I smell the spices,
And I feel warmth at the pit of my stomach.
Suddenly, there are bursts of light in the scene
And the fire quickly compresses itself down,
As if it was never there
But I know for sure the dancing flames were there,
Because the charred wood remains as a reminder.