Bill Evan's 'peace Piece' Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki

Winter light slips over my shoulder
And onto my blanket-draped legs
Like Bill Evans fingers trip across the keys
As he improvises 'Peace Piece.'

Somehow the tinkling of the keys,
Sporadic, nearly irrythmic,
Reminds me of water dripping
From melting icicles onto bright white snow
And I am reminded of home.

It may be the chill in my own living room
Or the quality of light or the quiet
That lets me focus on each note,
Now knowing what to expect,
What comes next,
But remembering the delight
Of surprise at my first listening.

What is it about jazz
That takes me out of my middle-aged self
And transports me back
To my parents' living room
Lying on the shag carpet
Listening to a scratchy album
Or watching a black-and-white musical
On a Saturday morning when it is too cold to sled?

Yes, part is sheer nostalgia,
But there is more.
There is so much to learn.
The part of my mind that craves complexity
That somehow believes I can harness this creativity
Into something of my own
Something in the beat of my own meter
Something in the swing of my own lines.

But first I must learn to listen
Like a child
Eyes closed
Notes exploding in the night sky of my mind
And maybe some day
I will see my own rhapsody.