Jazz Poems

CANARY For Michael S. Harper Billie Holiday’s burned voice had as many shadows as lights, a mournful candelabra against a sleek piano, the gardenia her signature under the ruined face. (Now you’re cooking, drummer to bass, magic spoon, magic needle. Take all day if you have to with your mirror and your bracelet of song.) Fact is, the invention of women under seige has been to sharpen love in the service of myth. If you can’t be free, be a mystery. RITA DOVE

from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young

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