Dylan & Baez, You & Me I’ve heard old broadcasts of Joan introducing Bobby, her silky soaring voice blending with his crackling croak, seen a photograph of him smoking a cigarette, strumming a guitar, leaning into the microphone, her standing, a few steps behind with her head bowed, hand stroking the back of the voice of my generation and I think of your phone call, the night after Christmas, asking to walk in the falling snow, walking all the way to my couch, my bed, returning two nights a week for nearly two years, how you filled mixed tapes with music new to my ears, Neko Case, Josh Ritter, Ryan Adams, artists I still buy tickets to see, memorized my poems, all the sad and sexy ones, brought me a black and white thick shake the afternoon of the night your boyfriend proposed, eventually moved to Austin, gave birth to three daughters and as far as I know, never played Diamonds and Rust on your cello for me while I sit, try to ...
Like the title says.