the silver bass guitar hangs on the wall
a life preserver on a transport ship
I remember notes so low unplugged
the mic on Zoom & Google Classroom
couldn’t pick up La Grange, Ceremony,
endless runs through scales & permutations
our cats crossed keyboards and kids
passed waving through backgrounds
but when we show only heads & shoulders
we could be rock stars, could’ve been
dying, afloat and silent behind our screens
clutching life preservers just off camera
I strum grateful fingers over thick strings
a warm and friendly rumble fading as I leave
to go back to work, begin the long uncertain
swim back to newly strange familiar shores
James Brush is a teacher and writer who lives in Austin, TX. He tries to get outside as much as possible.
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