I woke with mankind pressed against
blood. the pain. the ache. I searched up, into
the sunrise. the oranges of morning stretched and fell.
Granddaughter danced in the new Monday. I surged on.
“Let us go then,” I said and we walked to school.
Up on the hill I heard a sweet jazz slow.
A middle age man played his sax as the autumn wind blew
the children lined like they always do, and
the leaves played a percussion shadow show
The children smiled. The parents left a little less rushed
The sax played high, then low.
My Granddaughter and someone else’s tapped
their toes, swayed their bodies to morning in October
I’ve seen wars and depressions, houses fall and rise, in this
old miners town, I seen drunks and hobos, kids on skateboards
and mothers running late. I’ve seen church walls crumble and
jobs move south. but I’ve never. in all my walks
seen a man at an elementary school playing sweet jazz nice and slow.
As I skimmed to my apartment, a thought came to me.
pain establishes earth, bows the crust, and feeds the war of eternity.
The blood will bloat and the wind will break
branches to toss on the ground
again and again but the world,
has seen a man in black jacket
on Monday morning playing songs
for children waiting for school to begin.
I walked on and a melody washed my back.
I thanked the man, the children, the turning leaves.
Sang out, “I’ll suck some of the pain. so you
can taste the seizures. May today bring you pleasures.”
my feet tapped the sidewalk, the leaves scuffed the arms of this city
and war, war wasn’t so important.