I wear the socks as if their message
will sink into my calves and ooze
its way to my lungs, which can forget

to breathe when I’m counting measures
of rest in my head, trying not to move
my lips—a rookie move.

But I am a rookie again in band, even
with one semester under my belt.
Still a beginner. Forever operating

with beginner’s mind, with so much
to learn. And now, on the night of this
semester’s first performance in the college

library, as audience members arrive,
I find myself looking for the ones
I cannot see, but whom I suspect

are nonetheless here. They would not
miss a concert. They never did. For years
I took for granted that the ones who

made us would show up when we played.
It never occurred to me that someday
that would not be the case.

And as I played my bells parts, blending
with my bandmates’ notes wafting
into the air, I remembered to breathe,

trusting that the music we made
was reaching the ears of those present
and those hovering around the edges,

now the music and the breath,
in the now and in the forever.
Amene.

•••

(for Donna, who came in person,
and for Mom and Dad, who came in spirit)