The music, the voice,
the words, friends:
a pleasant evening
at The Old School.
Then the bassist
puts down her guitar
picks up her tenor horn
and takes me back.
Back to the kitchen
way back when,
preparing dinner,
chop off the bottom
chop off the top
what there is left
you put in the pot,
and down the hall
the muted trumpet,
or the saxophone
playing scales
up and down
over and over....
Now, in the semi-dark,
tears seep through
despite eyes
squeezed tightly shut.
