Sharply at seven
A single trumpet toots tiny notes.
From somewhere invisible, on the Upper West Side.
One year after the first patients died.
The trumpeter does not know who might be listening.
So many of us hear those notes, from our various windows. A reminder.
The first responders, the hospital personnel who tirelessly defended us
Against ignorance, denial, and death.
Can we say thank you to that lone trumpeter. Thank you for your devotion.
Thank you for reminding us daily. Every evening it surprises us, brings a smile,
And joins us as neighbors. Keep on tooting, please. If it should ever stop, I know already I’ll miss it.
The author lives on West 93rd Street. Photo by Duncan McNeil.