Fields of Satchmo, the new book of Wild American poems by Michael J. Vaughn! Only 99 cents on Amazon Kindle.

How to Sing

Speak.

Catch the vowel, plastic wonder.

Extend. Spin to the realm of

vibration, incarnation of breath,

trick of tone

Pop the consonant, Shakespearean

neutral, crack another egg,

open to the lips, toothcarve,

tongueshift, ceramic wind,

sonic floret, bouquet, filigree

Puzzle the syllables into streams,

meander, slice the clock into

boxes, lay them inside.

Push the edges. Swing.

Sustain. Work the quiet.

Erupt. Goof around.

Reasons we do it:

erectus matesigh,

a shout carried long,

a sob lifted.

It seems to make us

human, takes the prison of

self and flares it

across the landscape.

It’s possible to connect the

song to a thing we miscall

the heart, but you need to

close your eyes and

briefly give up your life.

Have a drink. Have two.

Fill your lungs with sky.

Draw the spectrum across your

larynx; you are a stringed

instrument, gorged with overtone,

rimmed with bellstrike, a

cellular call to the

oscillating world.

One day, when the green flash

gives way to a blue moon,

you may find that the

song is singing you.

You may then call yourself

a singer.

First published in the literary magazine Confrontation, Long Island University, Brookville, New York