I played those ragtime tunes
as if my song would somehow lessen the fear reflected in their eyes.
Being caught somewhere between hope and denial
we all wanted that unforeseen impossible
I choked on the air. It was as thick as English pudding.
Thick with the worried thoughts of those privileged passengers.
Thick, with our spirits and the smell of death.
Still, all my song shall be
I had to play it, to breathe.
Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!
I watched the women squeeze so tightly to their young while mournfully
they pulled away from their husbands.
I’ll never forget that look.
I played on, as my spirit hovered even nearer
I used my violin. Its what I could do.
The others took my lead on that boat deck as we desperately searched
to play the song that would save us all.
Men went limp, as if
the notes were lulling them asleep.
Some families clung together in prayer and others fought
to find something to hang onto.
We knew that God had called our names and that making music
giving solace, is what were there to do.
So we played.