Dolly Parton

I remember riding in the back seat of my parents’ Ford LTD when this song came on the radio. Mom was driving and my brother and I listened to her singing along with Dolly like there was no one else in the world. I could see her smiling, my mom, as she moved back and forth with the music, lifting her pinkie with the line “…and wrapped my heart ’round your little finger.”

For a few minutes, we all just rode along, heads moving side to side, nothing special, which was totally special. And then it was over and we all went back to where we had been. Mom kept listening to the radio, my brother and I kept playing or fighting, I don’t remember. But that song? It stayed as the tune to one of the most peaceful, happy, free memories I have, mom singing in the car, happy in her world while her two kids watched the world go by.

It’s just a memory, but it shines because of the music.

Dolly Parton’s music was for everybody. You could sing to it on the radio and not feel like you had to take vocal classes first. You could use your real voice and express your real feelings without thinking you had to be better or different or perfect. It’s the way she felt about people and life, and it shone through. You could almost hear her saying, “Come on, join in.”

For her, for her music, but also for the way she gave us all a space to just be happy even when things were hard, I’m very grateful.

Bones

Today this body looks good.
GymBro taught me “goatee is good”
in Alpha-Russian, and pulling a button
off this short-sleeved shirt showed
him, yeah, I can grow hair there, too –

but no rocks call, or sky, or ocean,
no words in waves, no windy voice of
God. My bones don’t sing to me.
I eat myself day after day,
mate myself night after night,
make little puppets out of skin –

as the earth, musical home wide-open,
waits for the sentence to end.

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