When I die, you better second line.
When I die, you better second line.
You better strike up the band, ev’ry day of the week,
Parade my soul up and down the street,
When I die, you better second line.
A man revs his bike, I close my eyes and pretend that it drowns out the voices of the dead. I can't escape the shadows. I can't sleep here in this city that I love. The smell of human secretion and desperation with hints of processed sugarcane. Jazz keeps me afloat. I bus tables and paint vivid colors on a matrix all for the tourists. I wear heels that I remove, point my toes and glide on stage. I move tassels into hypnotic circles. I've cursed and prayed here. Everything tastes better in this city.
As first I thought I died and came to live here in New Orleans. Sometimes I still wonder as I stand in line with the dead and living. Like a burlesque dancer, I'll remove my gloves first. I perform with a live band on a nameless street. I try not to make eye contact with anyone in the band as I turn my back on the audience. I do like it when I get them to play a note out of tune. I try not to stare at the visitors' bald spot in front of me. The spotlights blind me and aid in producing the sweat on my body.
Saturday after Mass, I sit alone. I hear jazz music play as it echos throughout the building walls. Bouncing off a plethora of material that house the living. When the 'bone holds a note the glass vibrates. I came here to finish writing my novel. I came here to be with my musician boyfriend. I came here to attend one hell of an A.A. meeting. You decide which reason to believe in.
My beau and I sit facing each other eating crawfish. Laughing and talking. It's a rare afternoon to be up at this time of day. Our second wind starts with the night owls and ends with the gutter rats pecking at leftover slices in pizza boxes. I traveled the country with this man. Going from gig to gig. Each city decided my profession, another character for my novel. In the daylight I will follow him anywhere but at night I tell him I want to settle down with or without him. He doesn't believe that I'll leave him. I don't believe it myself. I pray for a backbone.
