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MultitudesRadio Days My father has a picture of me taken around the time Charlie Parker died. I am sitting up like a prince, erect, bright, smiling. I have promise around my head woven in vines of gold, but this is not in the picture. I remember radio from then, checking the paper for my shows. My father had a habit of bringing home toys to me, small things on days he got paid. It was a reward for being firstborn and being a son. I was supposed to make the future a safe place. I had to kill the lion. I look at my son and my brother. I look at my father. The four of us are a circuit where the current is a stream of hope & fear, floating, going back, living and not living. We hold up our hands and dreams fly out of them, birds of blue electric. |
