The Trumpet

1.

It was my father's trumpet
and it smelled like oil
I put on its valves when I cleaned it.

The case was lined with green velvet
and the case was shaped
front to back
to the fit of a trumpet.

The trumpet itself was silver,
the bell gold-plated
that I shined with my handkerchief
daily.

The fingered tips
were inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
It plainly fit
a man who thought well of himself.

2.

I practiced that horn every day.
There were no delays, no postponements
and no excuses.

The mouthpiece drilled my lip as if seeking oil.

It became pure toil,
this blowing and blowing and blowing.

What began as glad
soon became something I hated.

I would have dated
the band teacher's daughter just to be excused.

3.

Mr. Wiesner, who by name was her father
and who directed the high school band,
gave me trumpet lessons at his home.

He would sit and smoke
as I played what it was I had practiced.
Notes burped like acid
and I never got the sense of a song.

The pipe he smoked was the instrument of choice
that he played
and his lips would make
little pops as he blew out his breath.

These were the sounds
my grandmother made when she slept.

4.

I don't regret that he never showed any interest.
He was not alone.
But sometimes he would talk of Harry James.

It was a dream he shared with the boy
who was his favorite student…
who would have sued
his mother
for a place in Harry James’ band.

I had no clue that fear and hate were so instructive.
But I came unfrozen as a fish
on the day I died
and was revived as surely as was Lazarus,
but without repentance.

5.

That day, Mr. Wiesner lacked patience,
broke his baton
on the bell of the trumpet beside me.
The band played on.

No doubt there was some kind of cause.
Still without a pause,
I knew that the plot was all wrong.
His abuse surprised me;
for the first time I knew I was strong.

It did not take long
for conviction to move to my legs.
I could see the door
and the floor all the way to eviction.

6.

I was a Freshman, then,
and should have been trembling with fear,
nonetheless, the air in the emptiest hall in the school
was to me fresh air.
Then the door of the band room closed.

I had walked out and no one stopped me.

Although freedom to me had been granted
by a man's mistake
who knew better and surely regretted,
still, it was the day
that I learned not to suffer abuse:
just walk away.