Poem - dollarfly

dollarfly

“let me know if you need anything”,
said the clerk, from behind a thick
wooden station and black
horn-rimmed glasses. “thanks.”
the hat store smelled of wool
and leather, and i quickly found
found one that suited me. 

i needed a new hat because
my favorite porkpie had been forcibly
removed from my head by a
mighty gust of wind that almost
caused me to wreck my bike in the
middle of Halloween traffic down at
Decatur and Canal. It took my hat into
the street and tumbling down a block
in a perfect line, and finally under
the tire of a utility truck.

i walked out of the hat store,
bag in hand, into Jackson Square.
i put the hat on, and looked around
at the artists spread out under the oaks.

on this day, the sky was clear blue.
New Orleans was taking on her
“land of dreams” personality, the
one that inspired so many songs
back in the days of Storyville and
the other red light districts filled
with ragged bands and toothless
pianos along North Rampart St.
and Claiborne Ave.

that’s when i saw her. a little girl.
i’d never seen her before, and
she was seemingly unaccompanied,
sitting behind a tiny table in the
shade by the iron fence. she had
a handwritten sign that said
“dollarflies $1”.

i walked up the table, and the girl,
who i figured to be about nine,
looked up. “would you like a dollar fly?”
“yes”, i stammered, "sure", and fished
out a crumpled dollar from my shirt pocket.
i handed her the dollar, and she folded
it in Origami style, in the shape of a
dragonfly, then handed it back to me.

“wow”, i said. “but, what should
i do with it?” i asked. the girl said
“carry it with you until it flies away.”
i wasn’t quite sure what to say to
that , so I said “ok, thanks”, and
walked on. i looked at the dollarfly,
and gently put it in my shirt pocket.

that’s where it stayed, as i went
about my business, and went to get
my bicycle. i had a piano gig to get to
down on Iberville, so i was working
my way up Royal St.

nearing the corner of Royal and St. Louis,
i slowed down. a lone violin sang sweetly,
in the hands of a man in a weathered top hat.
and as i approached, i recognized the
melody to La Vie En Rose.

i was overcome by the loveliness of
the scene, and realized that i just
had to throw a dollar into the violin
case, although i didn’t really want to
stop. i was late as it was. still, i
reached into my front shirt pocket to
see if i still had any random dollars.

i felt the dollarfly then, and pulled it
out with my right hand, still slowly biking.
and just as soon as i did, a gust of
wind arose, and it took the dollar fly
from my hand. it flew to the right, and
in the blink of an eye, landed in the
violin case. the busker said a little
“thank you”, without stopping, and i
rolled through the intersection and
down the block. and as i rolled past
the silver and the antiques in the windows
at the opulent end of Royal, i thought
about how strange it was that the gust
of wind that carried that dollarfly
hadn’t affected my hat at all.