Sara Vaughan (March 27, 1924 – April 3, 1990)
Maybe there were days. Filled with laughter, joy and friends. Rainy afternoons. Under the rafters. With nothing much to do. Another cigarette. An umbrella. Another tune. Dieing of lung cancer. Chemotherapy. Ventilators. And other jazz standards.
Lips aflame with lyrics. The jangled flattery. Of the music. The band playing in the attic. Or a small club in the Village. The drums kept everyone in place. The stand-up bass. Climbing up the ladder. Cheek to cheek. On the bare floor. Sometimes she could sing all night long. Sometimes they would dance forever.
Little Sarah at the top. Of the staircase. In her Sunday dress. The walls kept whispering. Don’t be afraid. We need your voice now. At another time. In Birmingham. A bomb was ticking. Next to the rectory. 4 little girls. In the choir. Stopped singing.
Little Sara. Little Sara. Little…
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