The Last Time I Saw Mingus

The Last Time I Saw Mingus

The last time I saw Mingus

He stood in his driveway, across from ours

Talking with my mother.

His dark dashiki

Made him look like a great bearded priest,

Heavy with years, and music.

They spoke quietly of the weather, and of maintaining their homes,

But not of their children, though looking back

I can see that they were really speaking about us.

He laid a gentle hand on my nine-year-old shoulder,

In neighborly welcome.

And Mom saw it as a blessing.

Her eyes were still bright with hope in those days,

Even though dark times had come for them both.

David O’Hara

11/15/2012

 *****

A friend asked me about this poem, one I dreamed entire and repeatedly throughout the night, and then scrawled onto paper as soon as I awoke. I posted it here for him. I'm never sure what to make of such things that come to us in the night.