Riding Saturday in her small station
wagon, my old friend Diane plays Johnny
Cash’s fifth “America” CD: one
last call for love. I give thanks it’s sunny
as his voice—falling to cruel assaults
from asthma and pneumonia—rasps, quivers,
calm and resigned. His phlegm-scarred throat may halt
full, pure lines. Yet, just as ancient rivers
stubbornly flow, so does the Man in Black.
He’s worn out, sad, at times even breathless.
Still, his tone and words can carry us back
to younger days: our hearts strong and restless.
We listen, silent. He sings of a ghost
to someone—that woman he still loves most.
Roger Armbrust
May 20, 2007
