Asymmetrical haircuts
remind me
of Janice Stone,
my 6th grade band teacher.
At the end of
5th grade,
Ms. Stone
came into our class
right side of her head shaved
gradually descending
into a cascade
of tight kinky curls
on the left.
She met with students
interested in joining band class
one by one.
On the small desk
in the narrow hallway
various mouthpieces
and reeds
were splayed in front of her
a garden
of musical possibilities.
Most of the girls
already knew
they wanted to play
the flute or clarinet.
But I sat down assertively
and said
“I want to play the weirdest instrument.”
She smiled and said,
“I think you’d like the oboe.”
In the beginning,
five of us started with the oboe.
By mid-fall, I was the only one left.
I loved the oboe.
It came easily.
It was loud
and important.
Ms. Stone played
tuba and the bassoon.
She gave me weekly lessons
all through middle school.
Towards the end,
we would just play duets
as if she had nothing more
to teach me,
she just wanted to play with me
to share the joy
of double-reeded-ness
and harmony.
I still want to play the
weirdest, most important
LOUDEST
instrument.
Now, it’s my voice.
I need lessons
on how to refine it
amplify it
and believe in it.
Where is Ms. Stone when I need her?
Probably marching in some band
proudly playing tuba.
Marching distinctly
to the beat of her own drum.
One side of her head a bit colder
than the other.