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POLKA HOUR
Every Sunday morning in
Erie, Pennsylvania we listen to
A Sunday program on the
Mercyhurst College radio station.
It features old-fashioned
Polkas, the kind my parents
Would dance, whirl with aunts,
Uncles, neighbors, at family weddings.
Even those under age ten would
Whirl together, arms flying
Upward and toes tapping
Without falling yet with a firm
Hand connect to a favorite cousin
The one who liked to spin faster
When the band played the
Pennsylvania Polka.
We would join the adults
Attempt to imitate their style.
Years later I swirl around
Our living room, dining room,
Still able to capture
Each polka beat,
Find it fun to bring back
Familiar polka rhythms
From age ten or twelve
Unconcerned about what
My footwork looked like,
The music was the magic.
(From the Memoirs of Barbara Reese 2012-Thanks for saying so eloquently what others of us remember).
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