Crack the Spine - Issue 180

that count; brass instruments sound too tinny and harsh.

When we attend the concert to hear the closest player to Reinhart alive today, an alto sax and tenor sax stand ready on stage.

Suddenly I don’t want to be right, so I slip out to buy you a beer avoiding any conversation.

Later, the night sky is clear, cold Men stand two deep at the fire.

I hear them laugh, pop beers, suggest “How about Cherokee?”

In the RV under the blue velour blanket, I doze through gypsy beat as everyone takes a solo turn.

When I wake, it’s after two. Your voice, surprisingly on key, strong, sings “It had to be you.” I hear an ease, a confidence. I sit up, my ear at the cracked window.

On the second verse another voice joins in, high and equally sure.