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ryu-son
— Easter
Published:
2011-05-03 04:12:50 +0000 UTC
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And the Easter sunrise service breathed into the endless sky and he thinks that the clouds are cotton candy and the communion wine is made of jelly beans instead of spoiled grapes and that Jesus would give baskets and eggs full of freedom instead of nickels and sweets and his mother scolds him for not paying enough attention to the preacher and he nods, knowing that he knows better what fulfillment is than any aging, sheltered man
He breathes life into his violin and his cello echoes, masterless from across the room in a minor key because that's the only tone catharsis can take and he begs the notes for room between rests to
breathe.
At a park down the street he joins a jazz musician playing freehand and his discordant noise doesn't quite fit the downbeat trumpet but but his notes echo as he draws his bow in the chambers of the homeless crowd of ten beside them
And the reverberation off of the trees fades into the empty, hungry sky and he hopes that is he plays enough the world will sound his notes in its hollows and when he rests and holds his breath and counts beats with focus the world will have a chance to
exhale.
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