As sunlight brings life to the pavements,
A sky reflecting magenta across brick,
Climbing the steeple,
Pushing rays of colour through stained windows,

But underneath there is a burst of life,
Where a swarm gathers around crooked tables
Held up with practicality.
Tables many years older than myself.
Heads swinging to the oh so intriguing, hard to grasp rhythm
That floats from brass, key & breath.
Hands forcing glasses to parted lips,
Words bounced back and forth in a rally of conversation
Each overthrowing the next.
Now the rhythm overthrows the voices, lips lie still,
No hum from the swarm,
No sound at all
But the music that enraptures the hive,
Tranquil, interrupted for a moment by a buzz causing a wave of digital commotion,
A calling from my companion,
The single hush is offered from a once again parted lip,
The interruption is not remembered by my ‘bev’ swirling brain
As the tune has taken over my thoughts,
Mesmerising pitches not once imagined by myself.

The ticket sits in my pocket waiting for my hands to fumble upon it tomorrow,
Reminiscent over the flickering red glow,
Reflected in the iris of the man sat next to me.
We were equally glued to the spot barely letting out a breath,
As the melody grasped every speck of my attention.
Now stumbling home bound, gagging for the return.

In response to the Jazzlive Archive Open Call for Writing.
March 2021
2021, Text, TicketOpenCall, Writing
Submitted by Leya Occomore