Sharon M. Carter
Door to Another Universe
Barely a moon
when the truck pulled into Madrid.
I gambled on safety—
the world seemed mine back then,
descended the bar’s damp steps,
their audience of broken
bottles, butt ends.
Doors opened to smoke, men,
a flamenco guitar.
The dancer, dressed as a crimson
sunset strutted on a pocket-sized
stage, her leather heels
drumming a tachycardia.
When rhythmic clapping began
she arched her body,
snapped open castanets—
a duelling conversation
overlaid by insistent feet.
Performers halted
on the same pulse.
She flipped back her hair
creating her own dark galaxy.
And laughed.