...for Jerica
The "found silver" in this poem is included as a symbolic memory, and not as an actual truth. I've included it in this poem because of the imagery evoked in one of my favorite memories of my niece, Jerica. When she was in 7th grade, I stood at the window of her classroom door because she had asked me to "come watch" her play in band. She didn't know how long I watched that day, and I've never forgotten the experience, just as I've never forgotten her. So, this poem, is about my silver memory to Jerica, with love...
One Silver Vandoren Optimum Ligature
After the accident
we found among the metal
crushed in gravel,
one glinting silver
Vandoren Optimum Ligature.
Jerica was summer,
always,
and at twelve
she asked
to play the clarinet.
Her long tender fingers
wrapped rosewood
near blonde hair
pulled back and
draping down.
Her blue eyes
brighter as she
began touching across
lower joints and keys
to hit high notes
celebrating altissimo register.
When it was certain
Jerica would no
longer hold first chair
among woodwinds,
Her mother gashed a
hammered hand
across the patrol's
heavy duty badge,
beating and bleating
the shrillest vibrating
timbrously piercing scream,
"No,
Get back in the car
Do not come here!"
I cry some
nights considering the
clouds of dust
polarizing and
illuminating
the reflection nebula.
I strain to hear the
lost refrain of sound
that strews particles
of iron and nickel
across my splattered sky
in hopeful sighting of
the perennial Trifid.
My heart recalls
and coils around
glint of broken dreams,
scattered light,
and the integrity of
galactic fusion.
And sometimes
when the earth is still,
adjusted and configured,
the reeds by the road
employ softer compensation.
I don't want to release
one note in season
as I leave go the window slowly,
passing by.
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