PSALM
by Partridge Boswell

after Mister T

Words, sounds, speech, men, memory,
thought, fears and emotions—time—all related …
all made from one
—John Coltrane
I pity the tongues of those for whom
cilantro tastes like soap. Pity the bruisers
and galoots who got sucked so easily

into Ali’s rope-a-dope. I pity the fear
that finds rest solely in a mirror’s graven
mug, never its ashen creosote. Pity the

solipsist for whom love’s assimilation
will always be an asymptote. I pity ears
that won’t sync mercy’s words & music,

thought’s vibration with a sung note.
I pity the indigent soul with nothing
but hollow-boned birdsong to build

its levees and bridges of hope. Pity
the soloist convinced we’re born
to live and die alone. I pity the fool

who listens to A Love Supreme
and hears a saxophone.

—from Rattle #85, Fall 2024
Tribute to Musicians

https://www.rattle.com/psalm-by-partridge-boswell/