Music appreciation

I love music. Every single day since I was a little girl I wake up with a song in my head. I learn and work best with music playing in the background. I just function, thrive, live on music.

I think my love of music is why this poem touched me so deeply.  No matter what happens to your in life, even an unimaginable injury, never let the music stop…

Accidental Blues Voice  by Anna Journey

My ex-lover received it at seventeen

skiing the steep slope at Wintergreen called

Devil’s Elbow. The early snowmelt along the Blue

Ridge had slipped the white limb of a birch

through the crust, jutted that camouflaged tip

into the center of the trail. He hit it, full speed,

flipped over his ski poles. One of them split

his vocal cords with its aluminum point. He sprawled

in the snow, his pink throat skewered like Saint

Sebastian or the raw quiver of his Greek father’s

peppered lamb kebobs. The doctors didn’t let him speak

for a year and when he finally tried his choirboy

voice had gravel in it. His tenor had a bloody

birch limb in it, had a knife in it, had a whole lower

octave clotted in it, had a wound and a wound’s

cracked whisper in it. The first time I heard him

sing in his blues band, five years after the accident,

I told him his smoked rasp sounded

exactly like Tom Waits. Like my grandfather

sixty years since the iron lung. I couldn’t believe

a growl like that crawled up from the lips

of a former Catholic schoolboy. But as he shut off

the halogen overhead—leaving only the ultraviolet

of his bedside’s black light—he stroked my cheek,

crooned, Goodnight, Irene. His teeth and his throat’s

three-inch scar glowed a green neon.

music-language

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