Testimony, A Tribute to Charlie Parker. Yusef Komunyakaa

trumpet,

      leaning ghosts against nighttime’s

      backdrop of neon. A foolish fire

      can also start this way: before

      you slide the key into the lock

      & half-turn the knob, you know

      someone has snuck into your life.

      A high window, a corner of sky

      spies on upturned drawers of underwear

      & unanswered letters, on a tin box

      of luminous buttons & subway tokens,

      on books, magazines, & clothes

      flung to the studio’s floor,

      his sweat lingering in the air.

      Years ago, you followed someone

      here, in love with breath

      kissing the nape of your neck,

      back when it was easy to be

      at least two places at once.

      PEPPER

      If you were alive, Art

      Pepper, I’d collar you

      as you stepped off the

      bandstand. Last notes

      of “Softly as in a Morning

      Sunrise” fall between us,

      a hint of Africa

      still inside your alto.

      Someone wants to blame

      your tongue on drugs: If I

       found out some white broad

       was married to a black guy

       I’d rave at her in games

       & call her tramp, slut,

      whore. Did you steal

      the Phoenix’s ashes

      listening to Bird?

      I’m angry for loving

      your horn these years,

      wooed by the monkey

      riding you in L.A.

      as if changes in “Mambo

      De La Pinta” could be

      rounded off to less

      than zero. Words

      you tried to take back

      left blood on the reed.

      SATCHMO, USA

      Dear Mr. Satchmo,

      I’m on the other side

      with “Tiger Rag” & “Way Down

      Yonder in New Orleans”

      on the turntable, a heart

      drawn on the soles of my feet.

      Here, in the inner sanctum,

      I see you toting buckets of coal

      to Storyville’s red-light houses.

      You are a small figure

      raising a pistol to fire

      at God in the night sky,

      but when I turn to look

      out at the evening star

      your face is mine. You

      are holding a bugle

      in your first cutting contest

      with fate. From back o’

      town to the sphinx

      & Buckingham Palace,

      to the Cotton Club

      & soccer fields in Africa, under

      spotlights with Ella & Billie