Titled:So What- Miles Davis
Twenty twenty two
Already feeling so good
Miles thinks so too
_
And I wonder what would have happened if someone paid attention to and nurtured the musical curiosities of the only dark skin black girl in band class in the predominantly white and quiet suburb of Maynard Massachusetts.
It was the piano at first, but then something about the rest of percussion just seemed fun. That snare. Bam! Back there she gets to see it all, the flutes and the trumpets, she bows and takes a seat it’s the tuba section’s part.
It was promising skies.
It was NOLA baby.
She did not know the likes of Miles Davis, John Coltrane. She could not conceptualize the rich history of jazz. She did not know to look she did not know to ask. She knew that she liked it and so she chose, band, an elective for four years in a row. Simply to hear that trumpet blare before math class. To feel the bass of the symphony drum in her chest. To be awakened and saved time and time again by the angelic tone of the flute.
Unbeknownst to her white classmates, each breath before a blare and each long exhale into their horn, woodwind, strum of a guitar, or kick of a bass drum was like an ode to her. It carried her through the halls, and helped her to stay afloat.
I guess now we will soon find out what will happen to her. Because now I get to pay loving attention to the curiosities of the dark skin black girl in band class in the predominantly white and quiet suburb of Maynard Mass.
