Thursday, February 9, 2012


My Answer To An Invitation From Rosanne Cash To Sit In With Her For An Acoustic Performance At The Rubin Museum Of Art

I’m flattered of course but I must
confess I don’t play
guitar or a wind instrument  
of any kind, the
nylon strings on the Silvertone
on which I practiced
a cats cradle beneath my soft
fumbling fingers,
the school trumpet that always left
me kind of blue, one
of many youthful dead ends. 
Let me be up front
about my limited vocal
range, my pathetic
inability to carry
a tune in a five
gallon bucket amplified by
a profound fear of
public speaking, a crippling
shyness going back,
yes, to my peripatetic
youth.  But I can see
you won’t take no for an answer,
not surprising, you
the daughter of the Man In Black,
me a man possessed
of subtle dormant talent that
waits only for a
spotlight, stool and a tambourine.

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