by Glenda K. Fralin
Do you remember the dizzy dance?
Grandmother’s floor waxed to high shine.
Shoes off, in stocking feet,
the dining table pulled away.
Grandma plugged in that old phonograph
and on went tunes from ‘South Pacific’
or ‘Brigadoon’. Then we would
whirl and whirl in circles so fast,
till our bottoms met the floor.
Like clumsy ballerinas we’d fight to gain our balance
then skate and spin till we fell again
a festival of hapless vibrant talent.