Beginnings

I did not expect to find a river

so far inland.

What underground tributary,

lake is your source?

It goes on for miles into the

center of an unending earth.

Back then everything was music,

wind running through rooster hair,

scratchy weed, wild onion, wheat;

blue gingham skirt, long nappy braids,

brown and redbone too.

When they built the first pyramids,

those Nubian Negroes did not sweat;

they used music, ancient tones, hoot wails,

song, prayers, and shouts that lifted earth into air.

How did melody find you?

Girl-child fingers banged upon ebony

and pounced upon ivory keys.

All around were concentric circles of

arms and laps; family allowing and

trusting who you were—to just be.

Everyone—parents, aunts, siblings, and

cousins left the parlor room regularly

to you and those unseen hosts of

treble clefts and jazz arias yet to be born.