Yesterday was a bad day, but now it’s Sunday morning and she’s got the Polka music program going on the radio. So, we do it. We polka. She leads. I take off my shoes so that I don’t step on her sore feet by accident. She’s a good leader. I’m a good follower. “Na lewo,” she says. “Na prawo.” (to the left, to the right) We never dance in a straight line. “Ah, an Oberek,” she says. So I stay for another one. She’s so frail under her loose blouse, the one that fit her fine last year. I manage not to step on her feet. She’s happy, dancing the polka. Me too. It’s like the old days, when we even had costumes. Below, us, sometime in the early 50s.