Shaking Off the Rubble

We had all but given up
when we heard the music
coming from
just down the street.
We assumed without thinking
that it was coming
of its own accord
(as though music could just – be)
at least I had.

We shuffled out of the office
after hammering away
our lives.
Breaking down our time
with chisel and hammer.
We would regularly
whisper our goodbyes
if at all
and leave for the evening
beaten
crumbling
admitting defeat.

But that evening
the sound of a tuba
unmistakable as the cartoon call
of some great white whale
belched out into the evening air
followed by other horns
tambourines and bells.

They’re players
were secondary
smiling between breaths
watching us as they came.
I’d guess
they were happy
to have someone
that might appreciate them.

When we saw the musicians
marching in their own way
towards us
they should have felt out of place.
But for just that moment
those of us who had come
to see what the
commotion was about
none of us whispered
none of us even moved.

We were all present
and aware.
Happy to witness
what a little music
was capable of.

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