Start in G, she said standing before us on a plywood pedestal no, that was a lectern, us on plywood steps, no those are called risers & choir practice has begun. How do I stand? May I jam my hands into my hungry pockets of worry, of embarrassment, of yet another class to kill the time from seven-thirty to eighteen years of age? Deep breath, she says. Deep. All boys here, unlucky you & wait for someone else to lead because I don’t know the song & I don’t know how to diaphragm breathe, how to rise to my pre- pubescent range only boys have & no, I don’t know, have no idea where G is.
Travis Stephens is a tugboat captain who resides with his family in California. Recent credits include: Gyroscope Review, 2River, Sheila-Na-Gig, Tiny Seed Literary Journal, Raven’s Perch, Crosswinds Poetry Journal, Gravitas and The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature.