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When I was in fifth grade, I was directed to bring home a yellow doctor’s note to my mother and along the way I beamed with excitement. My enthusiasm was alarming because that note meant that I had not
Stacks of speakers printed with “Reid’s SoundSystem” hug the back wall of the Treasure Isle Liquor Store. They blare with the warm sounds of U.S. rhythm and blues, rock and roll, and the early roots of Jamaican music, ska.
When I was about 10 years old, my father gave me a stamp album that had about one hundred Chinese stamps and a few other countries’ stamps in it. The Chinese stamps were mostly from the early 20th century.
Once, while lying on a beach up northin California, I saw a whale’s spout,an explosion of released water,a trumpet’s blurt blasting from underneath the thick blue carpet of Pacific Ocean,a quick glimpse—a firefly’s blink-flash,the blinding orb of sunlightreflecting off
He asks me for a song, so I sing one just for him. I sing of these unholy gifts stolen from within the refuge of music. A pale moon loiters among the geometry of stars. They know about us:
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