photo: ralph murre
At a
Jazz Bar in Denver
and His
Friends, I Learn Something New
by
Mary Jo Balistreri
I
sit and listen in the midst
of
my son’s crowd, speak
a
bouncy banter.
We
kill time
with
the Simpsons before
David
plays jazz.
In
jeans and casual jackets,
we
drink Coors,
check
the wind-tossed sky,
the
flash of lightning, hoping
in
spite of the weather, a crowd
will
pour through the door.
After
a while, I hear a shift
of
tone, a carefulness
I
hadn’t noticed before.
In
a conversation of augmented fifths
and
ninths, the friends address me
in
safe thirds. I listen more carefully.
Where
is the cutting edge,
the
forward motion? We converse
in
C major, squarely metered.
I
sit back stunned. The lack
of
dissonance strikes a new chord.
When
did Youth leave me and move on?
I
adjust my position on the barstool,
lean
into her absence, wonder
how
I never saw her go.
~
first published in the San Pedro River
Review
