This poem doesn’t appear in any books but free flows through readings I have done over the last couple of decades.
I performed poetry with my poetry partner Linda Stitt across much of Southern Ontario throughout the last decades of the millenium, and have focused through the new millenium on being at home to write, poetry, prose (my novel The Stain is available at http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+Stain+Charlene+Diane+Jones+).
I have a radio program twice monthly on www.whistleradio.com 102.7 fm in which I interview writers. Let me know if you are interested, by contacting me at email@example.com.
I also have a blog space at www.soulsciences.net I love science, which often sounds in its amazing and surprising details like poetry to me. I particularly love Neuroscience and have just completed a small book called Medicine Buddha/Medicine Mind on the power of visualization as explained by neuroscience. No, really, it’s an easy to read primer to those two subjects.
Anyway thanks for taking time here with me. I look forward to more contact later!
We went up on stage and he handed me a white Fender Stratocaster, a Jimi Hendrix guitar. Jared had been playing a hollow-body Gibson most of the evening, but switched for a few songs.
Strapping on the Strat, I strummed it to hear how it was tuned. And then one of my imps seized control. I launched into Purple Haze, running the entire introductory riff. When I stopped and looked around, everyone in the bar was staring at me.
Stepping to the mic, I said, “Sorry. I’m not used to driving a guitar this powerful. It just sorta got away from me.”
We got me in tune with the rest of the band, and when the other members came back from their break, Jared introduced me.
“We have a special treat tonight, a psychedelic rocker from the East Coast.” That got a laugh. “Those of you who happened to catch her playing here during dinner last night or tonight know what a special talent she is, and she’s graciously agreed to sing a couple of songs with us. Please welcome Miss Cecily Buchanan.”
Their band was tight and I liked playing with them. Jared was an excellent lead guitarist, and their pedal steel player was pretty good. The bassist and drummer were also good musicians. The rhythm guitarist was adequate, but had a nice voice. We played half a dozen Emmylou Harris songs, including Luxury Liner, Quarter Moon in a Ten Cent Town, Roses in the Snow, Boston to Birmingham, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, and I sang a duet of Hello Stranger with Jared.
I’ve never been shy on stage, and the applause and cheers as I put the guitar down and stepped off the bandstand felt as good as if I’d been playing Carnegie Hall. It’s better than food. I drank it all in shamelessly. For the first time in years, I felt whole, like myself. I remembered that I used to live for that feeling. How had I gone so far astray? This was so much better than any drug.
Jake came out from behind the bar and I skipped toward him. I threw my arms around his waist and gave him a hug. He hugged me back, in a friendly sort of way. His large strong hands on my back felt good. He didn’t try to pull me into him, and for some reason, it didn’t make me feel uncomfortable.
“Damn, Cecily, you’re incredible,” he said.
I looked up in his face. He was smiling and happy for me. Filled with approval. My heart seemed so full I thought it might burst. Where had this man been? Why hadn’t I run into him two years ago? Someone who seemed genuinely happy when I succeeded, instead of jealous?
I pulled his face down to mine and kissed him on the lips. “You can’t imagine how happy you’ve made me, and I’ve barely known you a day,” I said.