If I Were a Monarch Butterfly
I’d play Django Reinhardt’s
gypsy jazz as I rambled.
Like Romani everywhere,
my roots are temporary,
my wings all bling, swing,
my story backed with chords,
percussion, sweep of strings.
Improvisation keeps me
aloft as I glide through air
like flecks of sunlight adrift
on morning tides. Fueled
by lilt of violins, acoustic
guitar arpeggios, wind
shear keeps me dancing
from milkweed to magenta
cone flower to golden
jungle marigolds. Tune in
to my background story,
a glissando shift from bass
to highest C notes. I can’t be
constrained, reined in, pinned down.
Watch me soar from hot club
to blues bar, from waltz to swing
dance. Follow me as I cross
mountains, boundaries, border walls,
from Clouds to that elusive
Mansion of Our Dreams.
Listen to:
Django Reinhardt - Clouds - Paris, July 1935 - with Stéphane Grappelli
The Sunday Poem
January 15, 2023