Stompin’ at the Grand Terrace

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Liver & Onions: The Pianists

My father was alone.
Preston was supposed to come,
but sometimes without a prior call
wouldn’t show.

My father had the weekly selections
picked out—piano players today.
He started at their regular time,
drinking malt liquor and playing
Unit Structures by Cecil Taylor.

My mother, meanwhile,
hated Cecil’s music and hated Preston more.
She was furiously chopping up onions
into a skillet of frying calf’s liver.

“Liver, again?” I protested. She looked up
and flashed a warning flare, pointing
the knife at me. “Don’t complain.
Some kids don’t even have this to eat.”

My father had gone through three of ten
selections he’d picked out. From Cecil
to Red Garland to Kenny Drew. Now
he was playing Tatum’s Humoresque
—that choppy beginning—
still hoping the doorbell would ring.

Tatum was almost mocking the
classical Dvorˇák, before he got down to
hard swing.

My dad looked out the window,
then at his watch, and took
another sip of his malt liquor.

The overpowering smell of
frying liver and onions
and my mother’s curses
filled the room.

Excerpted from Stompin’ at the Grand Terrace: A Jazz Memoir in Verse (Blueroad Press, 2009); www.blueroadpress.com. The book includes the CD A Stompin’ Suite, featuring the music of Carolyn Wilkins and poems by Philip S. Bryant.

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