Sing the River

By Yahm Reichart

she walks along the cream and grey streets
feeling her favorite songs (from the burgundy square)
written on her insides
every drum beat, every guitar strum
when to inhale, when to hold the note
her hot blood pumps in time with the bass

she walks and does not see the lighted stores,
does not see the ashen beggars
does not see the cars the buses surge by

she sees the shadow of the crowd to-be-standing before her
in awe, entranced by her voice
her hand around the microphone
she pours the river of her feelings into their ears
flooding her throat, up, up, up
in the kind of ecstasy – loose your breath, your eyes roll backwards
loosing consciousness for almost a moment
pant for air

she walks the cream and grey streets for now
soon her voice will flood it all

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