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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