Major Thirds

Flying home,

what I left

unsaid saddens me.

 

The seatbelt sign,

the little chime

with its two notes

 

In major thirds,

repeated so

the kid ahead

 

Picks up on them,

and mimicking,

chimes in too.

 

His little voice

(boo-doo, boo-doo)

keeps on until

 

From somewhere

it comes to me

where these notes are from:

 

The opening of Ellington’s     

Creole Love Call,

the gentle clarinet

 

Trio laying down

a soft bed

for the wordless

 

Vocal. Funny how

regret can begin

to get so familiar,

 

Sound so sweet

and mournful. Clouds

full to bursting

 

Their whites

give over to blue,

and then to grey.

 

We enter them,

the little hand

on the seat back,

 

And the major thirds,

lifting, leaving,

forgetting to cry.

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