A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
You have the hands of a piano player and I said, yes, I play harmonica. He laughed, said of course, and moved on through the reception. In a Laramie bar by the railroad tracks our band played nights under a sky wide and high, stars shining like a score on the black sheets of heaven. My hands fluttered, measured the air it takes to bend a note into the blue night stars. There was no piano player but when a freight rumbled through the band left me to play wheels on the tracks and a whistle lost in the mountains west.
Copyright © 2020 by Rick Campbell. Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author and Blue Horse Press.