There will be more
swells of grief that tug
me into their gray embrace,
and swirls of lament,
and great rollers of loss,
and rising waves of ache.
But for now,
the morning sun
slips low through the window
in a major key
and the cat finds a home
in my lap and purrs
and the tea in my cup
is warm and full of bright notes
and I’m here, in this
peace, in this sunlit
octave, I’m here.
Posts Tagged ‘music’
Trough
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged being present, grief, music on November 10, 2021| 8 Comments »
On the Street Corner
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged invitation, jazz, music on August 5, 2021| Leave a Comment »
In the dark, we follow
the wail of live jazz
till at last we discover
the trio playing
on the street corner.
Not all invitations
to fall in love with life
are this easy to follow—
just turn the corner,
walk a few blocks,
then find a place to linger.
But tonight, the invitation
is so clear: to be led by the music
of the moment, to listen
with the silence inside.
For Brahms on His Birthday
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Brahms, communion, connection, darkness, music on May 8, 2021| 2 Comments »
For your birthday, Johannes,
I listened to your first piano concerto,
my heart trembling like a tuning fork
as the ivory keys and nylon strings
conversed about tenebrous grief and loss.
No one hissed in the audience
the way they did when your concerto
debuted. In fact, in my kitchen,
I sighed. I gasped. I thanked you
for the turbulence. What a gift when our sorrow
meets a sister sorrow so beautiful
we forget our own story, our own name,
and we tender what’s left
of our aching hearts to the blooming dark
that even now opens around us, inside us.
The Tide is High
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Blondie, buoyancy, music, ocean, salt, singing on April 4, 2021| 8 Comments »
lyrics from "The Tide Is High" by John Holt, 1967
Something about the unsinkable reggae beat,
and in just three notes, I’m again my young self,
dancing alone in my bedroom,
singing as if I am one with the song,
as if it were written just for me,
I’m not the kind of girl
who gives up just like that, oh no, oh!
And singing it now on a Sunday afternoon,
I’m caught in a surprise riptide of joy
and start to lilt around the room,
though just moments ago I was weeping,
buried beneath the salt of worry,
but here I am, dancing alone,
hips rocking, my shoulders a rolling sea,
my voice surfing above the bright swell of trumpets.
The tide is high but I’m holding on.
Sometimes a song is a lifeline,
not because it pulls me out of the water,
but because it tosses me deeper in,
and I feel I’m no longer trapping myself
in a life the size of a teacup—
no, in this moment I am oceanic,
an Atlantic of joy, a Pacific of wonder
vast enough to hold everything,
and the tide is high
and all that salt only makes me more buoyant
as I play in the generous waves.
That Song
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, loss, lost, map, music, song on July 7, 2020| 2 Comments »
I want to slip into the song
you sang, the one with verse
about loss. I want to hang
on its notes as if they were branches
I could swing from, want to climb
through its chorus, want to meet it
in its rests, want to offer it tea.
I want to ask the guitar
about your fingers, about
how they knew where
to find the melody. And how?
I want to speak with the loss itself,
want to ask it if it’s sure its lost,
want to offer it a map made of apples
and wings and moon.
I want to hear the silence after
the song, and then beg it, beg it,
to keep singing.
In a Circle Six Feet Apart in Town Park
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, Heartbeat, joy, music, singing, tears on May 26, 2020| 4 Comments »
Perhaps we stumbled
on the words, perhaps
we forgot a note,
forgot a bridge,
bumbled our entrances,
fumbled our parts,
but we sang, oh yes,
we sang into the low golden light
of summer, sang
because joy, because
harmony, sang because
lonely, because fear,
sang because, tears
spilling down our cheeks,
we could sing, oh friends,
before we said goodbye,
we could sing.
New Soundtrack
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged improvisation, music, singing, song, sound, spontaneity on May 18, 2020| Leave a Comment »
All day the world improvises
a song for me—song of bickering robins
and whispering grass, bright chime
of a text and gravel trucks that grumble
on the highway as they pass.
The song I would sing for you, let it be
as spontaneous as the chattering
of the cat watching hummingbirds,
as sharp as the flap of the flag in the wind.
Let me not sing the same song I’ve sung before.
This is the time to sing it new, to sing
the song we didn’t know we were brave enough
to sing. This is the time to sing
the most honest song, thorn song,
green song, yelp of relentless shine.
This is the time to sing as if our lives
depend on it, sing the song
that comes out of attending.
Song of pushing through dirt.
Song we don’t know yet.
Anthem
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged loss, music, sound on May 9, 2020| 12 Comments »
Today’s anthem is not
my chorus of curses
when the cat knocked
the glass of sauvignon blanc
into my open laptop.
It’s not the clashing swords
in the movie we watched
nor the sobbing
that shook me this morning
when I tried to speak of loss.
The anthem is not
the click of the door
nor the snap of the branch
beneath the Stellar’s jay
nor the soundless slide
of the moon.
Today’s anthem was the hum
I know you would have made
if you’d held me while I wept,
the waves of our breath
inviting us to wade
deeper in.
Some Enchanted Evenings
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, Corona Virus, Dennis McNeil, music, singing on March 27, 2020| 6 Comments »
with gratitude for Dennis McNeil
Every night now as I make dinner in Colorado,
I listen to a tenor sing live from his back porch
in California near the coast.
While I chop onions and chard
and sip on sauvignon blanc,
he belts tunes from Oklahoma
and Phantom of the Opera,
patriotic songs and Frank Sinatra,
and I sing along, my small soprano lifted
by his generous voice that baptizes the room.
This is the world I believe in—
a world ringing with beauty.
A world where people share their gifts
with strangers, knowing our lives
depend on this.
Between songs, he toasts us with gin,
and smiles. I return his toast with wine.
This is the way we carry each other
through difficulties, one song at a time.
Golden Slumbers
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Beatles, Golden Slumbers, home, music, tears on March 6, 2020| 4 Comments »
Please pretty darlin’, do not cry.
—Paul McCartney, “Golden Slumbers” adapted from Thomas Dekkers’ “Cradle Song”
And if the candle noticed
that I played the song six times,
it didn’t say anything.
And if the pan were aware
that I struggled to find a harmony,
it kept the failure to itself.
And if the kitchen noticed
that I continued to sing the song
long after the recording was done, well—
The onion did its best
to mask any tears
that no one was there to see.
And if once there was a way
to get back homeward, well,
perhaps, perhaps it will appear again.
*To listen, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sbcvf8a5BwM