If each part in the chorus
sings their note perfectly
a chord will lock
and ring,
all those golden throats,
tongues resting gently
on the mouth's back molars
and jaws relaxed.
"Place your fingers
under your chin," the director
suggests. Or, "Put a straw
between your teeth and lightly
bite." The jaw must not swing
except to allow the passage of air
and song. The jaw
is gatekeeper for harmony.
"If the cyst returns," my surgeon
explains, "the bone
will need to be removed."
He traces my left jaw
on the digital scan
with a blunt fingertip.
In the parking garage
I rescue the dog and we walk
together around LaFarge Lake.
Tonight I'll stand on the risers
again, balancing with baritone
and bass. A flock of starlings
lifts from the lake path
and the dog pulls on her leash
wanting to fly. I rehearse
our newest song in my throat.
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Wow.
Jude, you've made such beauty out of fear. I wish you peace and strength.