Fable 6,
       

In the season of our isolation, we placed a brain in a jar on a table

to be our brighter centerpiece. Why so shy, we asked, and the brain said

nothing. We were just happy to have the company. So many facades

coming down, The Jazz Standard closed, The Blue Note in the village

barely hanging on. More and more of the faces we love floated off

their bones into the cameras, and when the screens went dark, the faces

were lost. As we grew old with the season, face after face fell from our heads,

discretely, into dust. We have a friend, a musician, who was so broke

mid-June, without prospects and otherwise damaged, he put an end to it.

I have whispered to the brain on my table, surely there was something

we could have done. But the brain was not responding. And then it said,

I know, the music brought us all together once. The musicians I love

speak to the silence inside each brain. The ghost in the center. Like a sun.

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Copyright © 2022 Bruce Bond All rights reserved
from Salt Hill
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission