Gesture In My Head

Sitting in the second row of Hill
the expert improvisation of jazz legends babbling from the stage
I pull my coat around me
and am overcome
with a memory.
I do not know if it was the magic of MeFerrin's voice
Corea's keys or Dejonette's drums
or maybe just a rogue wave
with no logic or foreseeable warning
but there it is
reeling over and over in my mind and in my skin.
A gymnasium turned funeral parlor
sitting in rows
the SEALS file in behind me.
Every move of theirs is trained
ordered
regulated
so it is surprising in this space to see them move more casually
but still in uniform.
I sit
hunched over a program with attempted words of comfort
and feel an unexpected hand graze my shoulder.
A soldier moving out of line
picks up my coat
unknowingly fallen
and gently places it back on my chair.

These boys are human
and kind
and over a year after we sat in the high school gym together
their faces
their voices
their gestures linger
terrorize me with the possibility
that one of them will be taken next.