baltimoreblackwoman

March 21, 2020 2:43 AM

Never forget your first language, which is Music.
Before words called out to you,
Music fed your infant soul.
Even your mother knew this.
She recalled how you wriggled
To the sound of
Flight of the Bumblebee—
Though you were hearing it
As the theme song of
The Green Hornet,
Playing on the television
In the living room
Of the tiny apartment
Where your first
Five years in this world
Were spent.

Words soon competed
For your heart,
And, for many years,
You balanced your need
For both Music
And the Word,
Until you disbelieved
God’s first gift to you,
And stopped making Music.

Never forget:
What you don’t use,
You lose.

Play that piano,
That flute,
That guitar,
Your voice,
With the urgency
You felt as a child,
When every free moment
Was spent
Mastering what you heard.

About this poem: Early this morning, I wrote this poem directly to a private Facebook page dedicated to writers’ works about the quarantine conditions imposed by the Covid-19 Pandemic. The response of group members gave me courage to publish it here.