I open my eyes where I lie on the couch, blinking;
what have I been dreaming about?
Oh well, I make out the amber clock on the wall: 12:10am:
slept two hours, not long.
I push myself off the couch
while a song from 1993 surfaces:
“My Old School,” a fusion song from when
the college radio still played cool music.
It accompanies me as I shuffle
toward my computer,
reminding me of kindnesses shown me
by my dad when my illness was new.
This song is from a CD I bought
at the Gateway Mall in Springfield
in late winter or early spring, 1994,
when I was in process of relearning how to read.
I sit down now and ponder my dad,
enigma that he was who spoke but little
about his past and deeds on his conscience;
who looked so peaceful, open-mouthed, after he passed.
Are you talking about the group Yellowjackets or a song? Good poem by the way. Sorry you lost your Dad. I became acutely schizophrenic myself in 1992, but wasn’t diagnosed until late the next. My roommate in college was into jazz and introduced me to it.
Yes – the band Yellowjackets. Nice stuff, IMO. I play bass and used to be a Jaco Pastorius nut. Well, still like him a lot. Poor guy was too proud to admit he had problems. He was diagnosed as bipolar and everyone knew he was an addict (alcohol and coke). He was psychotic and just had bad judgment about it. Oh well, past is past. Can’t change it.