Listening

To the bebop elemental beat-

Her pulse pounding above the street.

Remembering, remembering

North Avenue in nineteen forty- eight;

Something calls to me, calls to me

Where I wait

To burst forth onto my mother's bed.

I remember she said

She said the Lord's Prayer

At the moments of birth;

Whispering it in French,

Although, she did not know

That she knew the language.

But who I was, already knew

He wanted to hear jazz

And inspired poets sing.

And listening, listening, somehow

To piano, sax, bass, and drum

Reminds me from whence I've come

And my mother's quiet blessing.