Shiny golden notes from Wynton's horn,
wonderfully- full purple notes from Ellis' piano
scattered to the Sacramento winds.
Rainbow-colored notes right from the music sheets
of the septet cast in plastic,
the confetti for a memorable concert.
And the wind returns colorful notes on the table,
on the floor,
around the punch bowl,
highlighting the dessert table,
as if broadcast like-wedding rice.
Bright balloons and message napkins,
props for a festive celebration
of a musical accent.
And Monica is there behind a pile of
prawns, fruit and pecan pie.
She watches adults seeking autographs
from the musicians
with a Mona Lisa smile.
But collecting signatures is not her task.
Her’s is the responsibility
of collecting the plastic note confetti
from every place they so generously snowed.
She knows the notes belong to her.
Even more than the musicians who played them,
these notes were special to her.
And tonight it is notes she honors.
They are her heritage
to the country
but collected tonight in a napkin
when the concert is over.
Somehow she knows that her roots grew
to the music she heard.
Someday, with prompts from the autographed posters
and her mother's memories,
she will be impressed by the concert
and the reception.
Tonight she collects each note from "Star Dust"
and "Jitterbug Waltz"
like shells from the beach
and leaves from the fall lane.
The collected notes are things to touch.
And she will remember the night
the falling stars were
the beautiful notes of her music.