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This is a restless homebound-day. My band teacher died this week, of the inevitable cancer, and my parents called me after the funeral. He was sixty years old, and a dear friend of my pops, back in the day. He taught me to play the flute. He taught my lil bro in jazz band and that was awesome. He did his job well, for a lot of years. My envy is to do the same. This news has made me wistful, for the Valley, and for the hometown where none of us live anymore. Here is a wistful poem:

Imunna

Imunna get my shades.

Imunna get salt to sprinkle on the slugs, and cayenne for the ants,

Imunna cling to everything, like a sheet of now-wrap,

Imunna be a good dancer, Imunna shake it,

Imunna hear the precious footsteps,

Imunna be a bright branch,

Imunna be lightfooted,

Na gonna be a good mom, wife, sis,

Imunna hold dear all that we thought was forgivable,

Imunna rock back and forth, alone on the dock.

Have you ever rocked with a friend, back and forth?

Rocking, Rocking, held.

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Happy Saturday, poem friends. Where are you? I’d like to hear from you.

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