But I want to be :)

Clarinet

Terrance Hayes

I am sometimes the clarinet

your parents bought

your first year in band,

my whole body alive

in your fingers, my one ear

warmed by the music

you breathe into it.

I hear your shy laugh

among the girls at practice.

I am not your small wrist

rising & falling as you turn

the sheet music,

but I want to be.

Or pinky bone, clavicle.

When you walk home

from school, birds call

to you in a language

only clarinets decipher.

The leaves whistle

and gawk as you pass.

Locked in my skinny box,

I want to be at least

one of the branches

leaning above you.