Three Times I Heard A Rainbow

Jazz Vespers at First Presbyterian Church in Ann Arbor

Three Times I’ve Heard A Rainbow

1.
off of Michigan Avenue
in a Chicago skyscraper
the lake outside a sliver of blue
that glistened and beckoned
us –
adolescents who were here to sing
but on a summer day 
it was the last thing we wanted to do.

We were singing about Mary.
She was alone
and walking through thorny woods

We didn’t get it.
Kept missing the notes
kept squeaking and singing off key
until our choir director
split us up
altos
tenors
sopranos
we all separated and practiced
until we knew our part so well
we could stand next to each other
“Sing your song,” the director said
“Don’t waver,” she told us

she brought us back together
sat us down in the U-shaped room
lifted her wand in silence

we sang

it was the first time I felt 
three part harmony
bright and blended
and I was terrified with Mary
this 13 year old girl 
whose song
would help redeem the world

2.
in high school

music played for four of the five minute passing period
on the fifth, the music was shut off
and we all stopped dancing
slammed lockers 
and zoomed to class

on this day, Arrested Development’s “Tennessee”
blarred through the school’s system
“But Lord I ask you,” we all sang
“to be my guiding force and truth”
we didn’t know we were praying
we were dancing and singing
“make me forget all that hurts me
let me understand your plan”

Earlier that year,
Rodney King, after being beaten by the LAPD
pleaded for us all to get along
and for a moment
four minutes to be exact
singing and dancing along to lyrics
we probably felt more than we understood
all of us did just that

3.
In a windowless Detroit middle school cafeteria
where the rules are:
Do not get up.
Slide your lunch remains
down to the end of the table
where the trash is.
If you must talk
quietly is how we speak.
You may not get up.
There is no recess.
There is no playground.
There is no place to congregate.
Sit in your assigned seat.
Eat.
Be quiet.

This is not communion
here, in this basement
that feels like a dungeon 
where students have to wear
the exact same thing every day
Black pants.
Black polos.
Black socks.
Black shoes.
I am worried
we are teaching our students to be afraid of themselves
I am worried
we are teaching our students how to be silent.

A boy starts a beat
soft and strong on the table
one of his peers joins in
then another
then another 
hums
beat – boxing
stomps
“ssst, ssst, sssts”
everyone is in on it

the other teacher and I make eye contact
and a quick nod in agreement
we are not stopping this
steady
complicated
piece of music
we are not stopping these students
each doing their own thing
sharing what they have
joining together
in a giant
pulsating 
heart