Blast from the Past

I have been seeking distraction from school work quite regularly lately. My distraction of choice today has been thumbing through the stack of old journals on my bookshelf. There seem to be hundreds of little one-two lined thoughts scribbled into margins and unedited poems on napkins stuffed into the journals' cover pockets. Resurrecting these journals feels like discovering old photo albums of my most personal memories.

Here is a little untitled, unedited bit I found from 2008. Upon reading it, I remembered exactly where I was and what was happening when I wrote it. Bisbee, AZ at the Stock Exchange bar listening to Dylan Charles and his band play their hearts out.

To be free

on two knees

empty

like the metallic pause

of the trumpet's cry

or the saxophones weeping.

To live in loss

as if it was ever

not so.

It's the same as letting go

of anything

of everything

you never had.

Like the love

that has not yet filled

or fit

the contours

of your insides.

Releasing can be relieving

but it can also be deranging.

Listen up,

don't you sit still, child,

tap tip tap your toes

nod and bob that head

switch and sway those hips.

The trumpet and the saxophone

will tell you all you need to know for now

this sound.