To Sculpt Vignettes

To Sculpt Vignettes

(“Listen to me! For I have important things to tell you. Everything I say is right.” Proverbs 8:6)

I looked ahead through the tunnel vision where I hoped
to see a light at the end. It had all been so simple then,
a new day of discoveries or a day trip with friends.
We would ride to Oakland and sit in a coffee shop in
the 70s
where words were spoken from a tiny stage. Where
I first read the early lines of my poetry and sometimes sang
songs I had just written for the girl beside me. We would
drive back home in my best friend’s blue VW bug feeling we
were the luckiest posse alive. We could have studied the
words like the night before a big test. We could have
memorized the verbs that made the evening pass like
an old freight train at night.

I was too nervous to try busking in the park. My skills
were crowded, my fingers careless across the strings.
I did know the songs so well, though, that they came out
of my dreams and into the waking room covered with
psychedelic posters of my favorite bands.

But I sang them nakedly and rarely ventured outside.
I rehearsed them alone wishing my voice could tune
the melody just so. Now I am old and my range has been
shortened by the passing of time. I can barely sing my
rhymes I hoped to retain.

But I could speak. I wanted to sculpt vignettes that
were lit from above. I wanted a better name than just
the sound
of cloudless days. If I am lucky, I’ll write
a piece good enough to stand upon the smallest
stage in the park
and be heard by someone who nearly and only wanted
to be reminded of love a league or two ago. I’ll play
the notes on black and white keys while I recite the words
I hope will make you smile.