It was my mother who taught me to cradle a
Blade of grass between my thumbs
Cuticles aligned and haunches pressed together
Creating the reed chamber
The first time she fashioned this magic
We sat by our hickory tree
The rock-hard nuts would sound off on any car
Parked too close to the cinderblock wall
My mother and I shared a penchant for silence
When we were among the fall leaves and branches
She plucked a broad grass from between us, blowing
Setting it loudly aquiver, shrill as a clarinet
Startling miraculous sound!
Please, yes! Show me how it’s done
It was then my mother taught me
The pleasant nature of patient curiosity.