TUSCALOOSA

I’ve been quiet, saving up voice  

And now I find myself dreaming again

Humming….and – ah yes – it swings

A woman who does not sing  

Saving up silence for you all day long

Large packets of quiet to be unfolded, unfurled

Like damp sheets hung to dry on the clothesline

Living in the hottest part of the state it’s too hot to sleep at night

Always in a half-sleep – I’m not sleeping much 

The virtue of silence and dreaming

The way I touch you, what that stroke says

A breath, a pause in the song

A lush tune laying sticky on us

Barely able to bear the feel of skin

But wanting it anyway

What the neighbors might hear is only 

Your voice travelling muted

Transmuted across wisteria air

pausing in the yard’s shadows

In the suspense of waiting for thunderstorms I indulge a fantasy

Of drinking at the old station bar, running round down at the depot 

Silent whirling dress, standing still as long as possible

Til the last second to feel the train roar by

This overwhelming sense of sound

To get as close to that roar as possible 

Inexplicably attracted to powers bigger than us

Jumping freights

Frying eggs on the sidewalk 

We’re having a little cooking session

In redneck kitchens 

Biscuits at dawn, moonshine and watermelon at dusk

Moon setting, sun rising

Moon rising, sun setting 

To be just a body

Coltrane’s “Alabama” plays on dad’s antique radio

Your Georgia gentleman DJ voice thrills 

Angels dance to ‘Trane

On the head of a pin, dancing, dancing, gently lightfootedly

WIth their own orchestra 

The angel’s musicians cooking

Long arms gentle reaching around their instruments

Plucking, strumming, humming

In the suspense of waiting for thunderstorms I indulge a fantasy

Of drinking at the old station bar, running round down at the depot 

Silent whirling dress, standing still as long as possible

Til the last second to feel the train roar by

This overwhelming sense of sound

To get as close to that roar as possible 

Inexplicably attracted to powers bigger than us

Jumping freights

Waiting, waiting, waiting and reading

The Bible on the porch

I indulge in a cigarette that hangs slow and humid

Watching smoke move away, dissipate as our life, music, voices

Move away from us 

Into the world broadcast

Off-jazz got a little off-jazz here at home 

There’s a woman who can’t sing

Rhythms danced, dancing but slurred 

Blurred by the heat

That private bump & grind so delicate

A dress swaying from shoulders

A gentle pendulum of hips and barefoot shuffle

The white sheets dotted & fluttered by the rain coming on

In the suspense of waiting for thunderstorms I indulge a fantasy

Of drinking at the old station bar, running round down at the depot 

Silent whirling dress, standing still as long as possible

Til the last second to feel the train roar by

This overwhelming sense of sound

To get as close to that roar as possible 

Inexplicably attracted to powers bigger than us

Jumping freights

I’ve been quiet all day, saving up voice inside me now

With you coming home, my voice finds a bebop all its own

Learning to sing

Not the painful sound of a new soprano or a phonograph

But the elegant glow of a long, slow jazz tune being broadcast

From some deep place

Beaming from the center of wet flesh

A quiet glow, oh jazzman

A quiet glow