silver trumpet, satin cap by Bonnie Proudfoot

Silver Trumpet, Satin Cap

The last time I saw a silver trumpet
it was pressed to the lips of a tall
black man, maybe the tallest man
I had ever seen, he was all
legs and sound, his cap tipped
back and his eyes shut
tight, but this is not a poem about
a man or music, or
the way a note can bend and sway
through aperture and mouth,
this is about the way
words can bend and swell, leave
somewhere and almost turn
to music, like the unheard
sound that sways behind
the gloss of word,
behind image or thought -- it
can be anything: a silver
trumpet, a satin cap -- the
word can only linger
so long, the sound can only be
the thing for such a little bit
of time, and then it's out of time,
then it's tapped out, and then it
stays lost for so long.

***

by Bonnie Proudfoot

Bonnie Proudfoot home page

Poetry Online

Wired for Books