The Sound of a Marching Band Always Did Make Me Cry A Little

The Sound of a Marching Band Always Did Make Me Cry a Little


The click and throb of a drum corps slays me.
At the marching festival, the staccato and thunder of drum lines
percuss across the sunny October afternoon, report back.


This season, my daughter’s first season marching, my first season
with cancer, beauty and sadness merge, every lovely thing
nearly unbearable in its loveliness.


Approaching the stadium, the radiance of autumn
ash trees strolling the golden promenade
moves me to tears.


We band boosters cluster in the shiny aluminum
stands cheering loudest for the smallest schools
struggling the hardest to be proud.


This day, band after high school band, accomplished
or ragged, every child is my child, my heart pangs
for the earnest brilliance of each one.


When our determined little band takes the field,
we scour the uniforms for our own children,
identifying by instrument, then by size and posture.


At the sight of my daughter, I explode, sobbing for such perfection.
The brass section bangs away at the sky and I am blown open
in the face of what is to come for me, my family.


Expanding at the speed of light, I witness
the origins of our newly forged universe, embrace
the exquisite nature of every thing.


2 thoughts on “The Sound of a Marching Band Always Did Make Me Cry A Little”

  1. Growing up, I always wanted to be in this band, even though I’m from New York. Now being a part of it, I totally understand when she says, ‘This shaped me.’ We get to live that every day. I think it’s a great message for her to be conveying. She’s making marching band, and band in general, a little bit more normal and accepted. She’s bridging that gap between classical and hip hop and making it a little bit more accessible for today’s kids.

  2. This is so amazing, thank you! The sums are perfectly experience I had watching my daughter in high school marching band. This is beautiful. ❤️

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