Every once
in a while there is
a nervous looking black child
an interesting
one - with no parent that
reads the magazine
or parleys with
another parent
on what one might
consider well meaning
about fear,
about careers,
about
the local
daycare
Naturally, I err closer to the child
and I would greet him
with an awkward first
hand shake or
maybe a high five
if I'm
feeling it
He got a B in science
and he definitely
earned it
man versus gravity
earth, music
ecology
the ocean it does
nothing
but it gets the credit for
being breathtaking
Every Wednesday I go up to the hall
I imagine the child sitting
at the corner
we listen to jazz
ashamed
frightened
to be
lonely
I craft him paper
stars
they shine with
the radiance of the sun
only for him
the way nothing else can
I hear the dry sound of
skin
against skin
the bigger story arc
that tries to overtake
the secondary
plot
that drives
both our stories
I tell him,
"That is what the jazz is for."