Sectionals

A silly poem about high school marching band, edited.

We come together
once a week,
to share the
joy of music.

We bring our shiny silver
Gemeinhardt and Yamaha
instruments.

We start with SAMS,
So..
         Mi..
                   So..
         Mi..
Doe.

Then we move
on to chromatics,
our fingers moving
swiftly over the keys.

Some left behind,
as the rest race
to the finish.

One is left
on their own,
playing, roaring
for a single
                             moment.


Silence.


A BOOM of laughter breaks in.

The joy of sectionals.

We collect ourselves as
the soloist continues,
moving through the notes
with beauty and grace.

But something about the music
inspires an interpretive dance,

mid practice room.

Through the laughter we
are
united, holding
the love of
music beneath our
finger tips.