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Traveling in Absolutes
Jason Centrone

A look to Blackwell’s cover,
The Sacred in Music,
and aisle seat guy
makes a connecting flight of it. Hey,
you’ll know this.
Whose pavane is Better?
I sit up some—has me at Pavane.
Yaws off at better. Like the better
between Hip Hop and Dubstep
with no margin for contextualizing
on the one and other hands.
I leave the window-side ear bud in.

Dinner guest of a local cellist,
I know to ask whose recording,
of the Bach Suites,
do you prefer you yourself personally,
to which she blurts the Casals,
like he’s been the end of my sentence all along.
They’re in mono, I say. An early recording.
Says it’s not the sound quality she notices. Hey,
it’s just the one instrument, right?
End of the table guy clarifies,
what difference would stereo even make—period.
Rhetorically sealed.

Ravel’s Princess, I say,
in attitude, is a hand on your shoulder
bagging the clothes
when someone moves out.

With the opus 50,
Fauré offers the full embrace
parceling apparel
when someone passes.

I wouldn’t listen to one—overdoing it a little,
while managing the task of the other.
And like ending my sentence, Hey,
but really, the conversation—symphonies.
Whose 9th is best?
The honest to god Best.

—
Jason Centrone completed master’s coursework in counseling education, though settled on carpentry before leaving for the Oregon wilderness. He clerks for and writes from a state correctional facility now.

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Have you read these poems:
Surprise Guests by Thomas R. Smith
Straddled by Diane Glancy

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