PAUL

Father of my children: Benjamin, Spellman, and Jamila,

Bringer of the beat, the bottom, the low end, the earth frequency,

Hands with skin like tree bark, elephant skin,

Swacking at the strings, the beat and the buzz

The slap/skank of the bass; sensing the low end

On which the melodies depend.

Everyone can get on board with that foundation.

My memories of you dredge deep into the sea below:

Shipwrecks and fish, uni and mussels, babies running bare bottom,

Whirlwinds and rainstorms whipping the ridge,

Flapping windows and tipi shaking in the Southwesters,

Earthquakes in our bones, earthquakes shaking us to the marrow,

Hurricane emotions matching the wildness of our LIFE.

That fusion, that dissonance, that jazz, that furious rock and roll

Slamming the air with sound and the essential blood

Pounding in our veins, pulsing through our arteries,

Objecting to living and dying unknelled and unheard.

You said your soul flew off over the sea that time;

I see you now, flying over the waves to the West,

Flying over the earth beat.

Flying and smiling.

Now, cook that chicken ‘til it falls off the bone.

And don’t forget the Tabasco.