Worry is the Wind 02

it’s another day that my Cajun box sits on the coffee table

untouched

while my fiddle rests on the wall after being groped all night

by Old Mother Flanagan

it’s really wild that we live in a such time where I can travel

back in time to thirteen years ago and listen to myself

in Millie’s living room playing tunes together in the early days

of the Complementaries

with all four of us there

giggling and laughing and unmoored

with such innocence

which is not something everyone can say

about the time before them and their younger self

back in those days when none of us had a partner or a worry

aside from governmental and capitalistically instituted ones

when we would all just sit around with our right arms ticking

and the fingers of our left hands tapping out a conversation

in the form of melodies and rhythm

wafting through the air and room

and there was the ghost of Millie’s roommate

who we were all jokingly ragging on in between tunes

for who knows what naive and juvenile reason

but somehow it made us all crack up

in the peak days

of the players and the play and the potential

to really be somebody or something or somewhere

in a future that was both dark and rosy

and even though I went to bed last night too late

listening to Sam and you fiddling beautifully

in such a complementary way

it brought back a little tickle of joy and gave me a bit of hope

that one day we’ll share more moments like that

and even though the faces will have changed and the players

and the organs and the place and the rags and the religions

we’ll still use the instruments in such a way

that we’ll be able to forget our bodies and burdens

and just be together