Since the day I can remember
we strictly listened to Frank Sinatra
louis armstrong
and benny goodman at grandmas.
Family affairs
thanksgiving
passover
or the weekly meal
the sleek and calming voices
were always there.
Accumulating in the distance

Today with all the dramatic
bluster that comes
with the vitality of being a teenage girl
I can click on the stereo
and just listen.
I listen to the brassy entrance of sing sing sing.
The husky, thick, throaty
but soothing tone
of what a wonderful world
and just the right amount
of smoke damage cloaked into the voice of Frank Sinatra
to make him alluring.

I fasten my eyes
and I feel like I'm back to the era
when the world was big.
I smell steam as my grandmother and uncle
wash away the stained platters by hand.
The room where the
never ending table stood is now cleared away
and feels as wide and vast
as carnage hall.
My grandfather picks me up
and plops me on his toes.
With my new and minute hand
swallowed by his aged grasp
we sway to the melody of fly me to the moon.