Jazz

trumpet extending like summer legs on a lounge chair

soft pops of piano keys repeat the story of small revelry

wine or coffee under the nostrils, slightly gritty and addictive

drops into the black space

 

i can remember my grandfather’s hands

knobby knuckles that worked factory jobs and steel and at night

danced with his upright bass to

big band music he learned by ear

 

as i lean back into the arms of the music

i imagine his heel bobbing under the table

his hand reaching out in invitation

inventing histories we never got to tell

 

Decades-of-Jazznew-slicer-badge

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7 thoughts on “Jazz

  1. The tempo and rhythm of your poem matches the topic so perfectly. I love how you move from a description of the music into a description of your grandfather. Thanks for reminding me that slices can be expressed in poetry!

    Like

  2. I love that (as does the musician in me) and I can hear the syncopated rhythms of memory at work there. Mind if I riff?

    Dancing with the upright bass
    anchored to the floor
    on the two beat, and the four,
    as he locks the groove in
    with the drummer at his right,
    listening to the horns dancing
    straight into the heart
    of the night.

    –Kevin

    Like

  3. The format of this piece with so much white space gives the perseption of time and calm that comes while listening to music. What a nice way to remember your grandfather.

    Like

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