Magic Sunday
By Susan Mowery
It’s February, winter of ‘64
And I have been waiting for weeks
To catch this night.
I’ve played my cherished 45 over and over and over
Still sitting at #1 on the chart on the wall
At E. J. Korvette’s Department Store.
I want to hold your hand
I want to hold your hand
Again and again I move the arm of the needle
Tiger Beat and Seventeen provided me with
The four glossy portraits that watch me each night
From my bedroom door.
I’ve read everything. I know all about them now.
John, Paul, George and Ringo
So here we sit on this special Sunday night
My Mom and I on our red and white toile
Sleeper sofa. Waiting.
We stare at the walnut, brown box under the stairs
In all its 10x10 inch glory.
There are only 3 knobs and 3 channels but the
Right number is already chosen.
We sit cuddled together giggly in our girliness
Until there he is, the odd man with no neck,
Ed Sullivan promising us, “A really big show!”
We languish through the opening acts,
Maybe a puppet talking, a dog dancing, who knows?
Until he suddenly says, “Ladies and Gentlemen,
Introducing the Beatles!”
And there on our small RCA screen in
Beautiful black and white
Appear four smiling faces bursting out of the tube
Wailing,
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
I drink them in with my eyes; my ears disbelieving.
I want to cry and don’t know why.
My Mom breaks in, “I think they’re cute!”
There are other girls my age in special seats,
Crying and screaming.
They don’t know why.
Suddenly they’re gone from the stage,
From my TV set, from my magic Sunday night
My Mom starts to play softly with my hair.