Today I’m trying a “riff”—an unrehearsed “quiet musing out loud” on a particular theme. I hope you’ll respond by sharing your own musings with me and other Rafters in the comments.
If you’d rather read than watch the video, click on the transcript tab above for an AI-generated text.
Today’s riff concludes with the poem below.
ON THE FIRST DAY OF GRADE SCHOOL BAND
Phyllis Cole-Dai
It was decided
she should play
nothing shiny and brass.
Not the trumpet,
not the French horn,
not even her father’s father’s
trombone,
which, dinged and dented,
slept in the hallway closet
next to her
pink and white bedroom.
Nor should she play
the cymbals,
the snare drum,
the bass drum,
the kettles.
Nothing too loud.
Nothing too deep.
Nothing that might
cause her to break a sweat.
Nothing with size.
Nothing with power.
Nothing meant for boys.
Give her to play
one of the safe, acceptable things
listed on her parent permission slip.
A flute, perhaps, to shape her lips.
A clarinet, to flatten her chin.
A triangle, to tinkle.
Give her to play
that sweet, girlie thing.
The cute thing that won’t prove too hard.
The meek thing that won’t attract attention.
The prim thing that won’t require
the indecent parting of her legs.
Give her to play
anything
but one of those
unsuitable, forbidden things she desires
to hold like a yearned-for friend,
instruments whose names she barely knew
how to forge on the consent form
while riding the bus to school
that morning,
little hand trying to scribble Big,
with perfect spelling,
already desperate
to make music
of its own.
The Gentle Nudge
Join other Rafters this week . . .
THURSDAY: Poetry Pick-Me-Up (Zoom, 12:00-1:00PM Central, at this link)
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