Stage

The lights were so bright on stage that I grasped the mic and reached out to feel tangible and in my body. I sang my song yet again, but this time did not click into auto pilot but felt my body and soul swell and release with the music. My show was so well practiced that rarely did art and soul combine. I often contemplated daily necessities such as my shopping list or my daily walk and snapped back to reality when the music stopped and the applause began. Bravo! Bravos, they would shout as I had chose braised chicken over seared tuna in my musings.

So tonight was a rare treat. The familiar strains of music began with a flash of the conductors baton and I stepped onto the blinding stage and high healed it to the mic. Grasping reaching and releasing my soul to the top of the curtain. There it floated and swooped with visions of swirls and colors encircling me as I sang. The Italian song built to a mighty crescendo and then became tender and gentle before the finish. My upper lip was damp after that first song and I knew that tonight would be one of those performances that fueled me. One of those performances where I knew I was truly an artist and not a girl on stage for hire.

Aunt Anna

We sat out on the breeze way, summer wind teasing our hair. Little girls posing as fancy ladies. You served us on your fine china and had us dab the corners of our mouths with linen napkins. You stifled my giggles and little girl song with a strong look, but your hand rested lovingly on my sun warmed hair.

Thank you for letting us jump rope for hours on end. Thank you for teaching us to be ladies.

Birth

I went almost apoplectic that day.

It began with gifted tickets to a white sox game. My friends and their almost grown son and myself. Large major league beers were consumed by those of age and sun burns were had by all. We went to Amy's mother's house after the game for a much needed pit stop. While the other adults were chatting at the table, Johno and I ran to the back yard which housed a very old trampoline. It's frame was rusted and the canvas had a well worn hole in it. Johno, a rather large 13 year old, and I took turns bouncing as high as the sky. It was glorious.

My competitive streak got the best of me when Johno pulled off a forward flip. I know that if I bounced high enough I could do something more special and even more spectacular. Arms pumping and legs springing I drunkenly contemplated feeling as air born as a bird when the trampoline did not catch and release me, but let me plummet to the rich black hubris underneath. I somehow in my jumping glee had not avoided the well worn hole and had widened it to the size of my ass. I went right through-it was a birth like experience, and then crawled through the black dirt to roll on the ground with howls of laughter.

The Park

He played with squeaks and squeals like he was a novice player but he had been doing this for years. He serenaded at the formal gardens during the golden sunlight part of the day as often as he could. It cooled his thoughts and softened his heart.

The other officers had no idea of this alter ego. They knew him as the cold eyed hard ass. The straight player in the good cop bad cop routine. This musical facet of him hit at a truth unknown to his buddies. Only his lovers know of this tenderness, but that was because he played them much like he played his soprano sax. The rise and fall of his sex much like the rise and fall of his melody; tongue, teeth, caress, and blow. All elements in the same vein stemming from the same desire. Yet another facet his fellow officers knew nothing about.

Sunset

The sunset on the cottage by the sea. The tell tale pinking of the sky and the golden hue of air and sky deepened. The colors melted into each other with a magical sharpness that enthralled. She knew dinner was late. She knew that he would come home soon; sullen and bitter with what the day had wrought and what this life had brought. That bitterness encompassed her at times. Moments like this though brought calm and peace. The golden sunlight moments were hers alone.

She breathed in the wet salt air and smelled the fishy brine of her home. She knew her dreams dissolved like the holy host on her tongue. The children she ached for and the blessings she yearned for. She felt free of her aches and yearnings during her stolen moments.

The snap of the clothes on the line returned her musings to reality. The wet air would ruin her work for the day. She began taking in laundry after her second miscarriage. She was known for her sweet smelling clothes. She rinsed in lavender water, but she knew it was the sunshine that freshened. She used to cluck over the baby clothes and nappies she washed. Fussing and dreaming that she would have to answer a skwall of a child stirred from a nap. She would answer the call happily. She knew in her heart that she wasn't barren, she craved a baby too badly.

She had that dream of chasing a small child around the shed; laughter ringing true on the ocean breeze. When she caught the wee one, and he looked up he had her eyes. She knew the angels would not have sent such a sign without fruition.

The snap of the clothes called her again and she answered with a quick turn that broke her revelry. A sure march across the packed dirt of the ground gave her the solidness to do her duty.