PROSE POETRY
MICHELLE MOROUSE
Tante Hedwig dances at Orchestra Hall
Come, come, she exhorts in her eastern European accent—don’t ask, I’ve lost track of how many places she’s lived, our people lived—and she’s up out of her seat, disco-esque, bracelets jangling dangerously close to a hijab on the left and blond extensions on the right. I nudge my sister, and she laughs out loud, taking her own Pops Concert liberty, and wakes the elderly man on her right, earning a smile from his wife. Well, look at the conductor, says my sister, he’s kind of dancing. They’ve been dancing, I reply and there’s a movement over my shoulder, and a white-haired Asian gentleman in a linen suit taps Tante on the shoulder, and they join hands across her seat back for a tight, bouncy, box step and the conductor pivots and says sing, sing, and the children take it up first: We’re coming to America, We’re coming to America...
Michelle Morouse’s work has appeared, or is forthcoming in, Sierra Nevada Review, Laurel Review, Midwest Review, Bending Genres, The MacGuffin, and more. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. @michellemorouse.bsky.social
