Larry Frear,
whose name escaped me
for days
and years
was the essence of the saying “carpe diem.”
Not only was his name lost in my memory
but also who he was.
But sometimes forgetting
can be the best of things.
I have to remind myself
of grandfathers long passed
he was not one.
A neighbor,
a husband,
a musician,
a friend,
that’s what he was.
Pink dusted roes burst with life
against his stucco house a mere block away
even on the day we met with Mrs. Frear
to mourn his passing.

A saxophone almost as an artifact
still sat, displayed in the living room.
Wrinkled hands that danced along the neck
where gone
though soon influenced my sister’s,
no one ever mentioning what we all knew;
where her passion blossomed from.
No more is even needed
to describe how Larry Frear influenced our
lives
and touched our hearts
if he could invoke such a passion
as one for music.
The memories of hot afternoons
playing in a grassy backyard
and eyeing every flickering hummingbird
visiting their feeder
are carried in our reminiscing hearts
and summoned by the rich notes
of saxophone music
which to me
will always be his.