Holiday
For Billie Holiday
Billie Holiday sang right to me last night.
Her voice floated to me on velvet breath,
seared through the pops and crackles of her ‘30s records. This woman
impressed herself onto my heart with a voice barely a whisper.
She made love to me, penetrated me with her song,
told me her story, bled her soul and mine

with her mournful symphony: a land mine
of blues in the Holiday night.
How simple, yet plaintive her songs.
Notice the tremble at the end of her breath.
Notice that the love-songs, the pain-songs she whispers:
"Someday...the man I love." This woman

speaks for herself and all men and all women
who want desperately to say the words this man is mine,
but know that prayer goes unheard like the softest whisper
dissolving into the vacuum of a Jazz-less night.
(Notice the voice tremble at the end of her breath)
Listen to Billie Holiday sing.

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