Jazz Poem by Dorothy (Alves) Holmes

She calls him jazz
Because he is the music
Her heart hears...
Like the slow rippling
Of a trombone,
Deep and mellow.
Sometimes, gentle like Duke's piano,
When he plays 'Mood Indigo', lingering
Forever.
Jazz is what she hears when he whispers
Her name, sweet and low,
Like a lonesome saxophone's
High notes, wrapping around her
Like his arms.
There was never a sound as mellow
As the soft echo of his breath
In her ears...
Jazz she calls him,
Because, jazz he is.