A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
Swirling, confident, those sax notes stretch and blow
above the drums, full of his blue notes,
fifty years ago, new as now.
The bass moves in saucy with profundo
as the high hat registers a little metal
till the sax comes back.
So long ago, my mother died in May.
She taught me about music and aesthetics
though not too much about life.
The dogwoods are porcelain nearby.
The sax is fluid with its blue sounds,
pouring over us as we embrace spring.
Copyright 2019 Carolyn Gregory