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Poem from:
Freshly Rooted by Emily Wall
River of Life GospelWall, Emily
-For George Trani Last night of the Folk Festival small town revelry, and the River of Life Gospel Bluegrass Band gets up. Before they play, George’s wife reads a thank you letter, thanks everyone for the money, for the prayers for his recovery. Thanks everyone for his life. He sits still, hands on his banjo. I watch him and think brain aneurysm how it came suddenly the week he retired, out of the clear black sky. He wanted to come back, she says he wanted to play again. We want him to play again. The band starts, slow but sure, their fingers on the bass, the guitar, the singing fiddle careful and silvery in the lights. The audience is so quiet—even the babies seem to be tuned to voices from another world. Then the leader calls out, mid-tune- you, George, you go and I want to say no, what if he’s not ready and then George’s hands steady on those shining strings, pull music out of the banjo, like thoughts that come and go and then suddenly arrive, yes, that’s what I meant to say in a rush of certainty. The band swings up into chorus and the audience explodes, roaring to their feet clapping drowning the music, clapping so hard as if just the action of putting our hands together could heal thin artery walls, mend them together in our palms, as if we were clapping for a miracle clapping to ask for nothing more than an ordinary man’s life and clear banjo music on a warm April night. Copyright © Emily Wall 2009 |
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