He touched the strings.
His bass fiddle responded
to his touch like I do.
The notes were gentle
waves of his own
sense of humor.
She said fitting sounds
back to him
on the keys.
Their music pleased
and teased
everyone
the way it played itself
through their fingers.
They communicated
in unwritten jazz riffs
feeling the moment
filling the room
with creative delight,
none of it taped
just into the air
like a loving prayer.
From ‘Maybe Shirts are Easier’
When Bobby & Bobbie Made Music Together is the only poem in “Maybe Shirts Are Easier: A Path Back To Life” that my husband Bob saw. I wrote the book after he died. He loved that poem so much that, unknown to me, he made about a dozen copies of it; I saw him handing them out to his favorite musicians at Jazz on the Hill, a concert we attended at the College of San Mateo.
DAYS OF TOGETHER
LIKE FALLEN SNOW
MAYBE SHIRTS ARE EASIER
When Bobby and Bobbie Made Music Together
UNPUBLISHED