What if?

The flags are half mast today. I thought it was because James Brown died. I know that I'm dreaming, but what if? What if a half-crazy American musician was just as important as a President?
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What if, when a musician died, the music, all the clock radios, the stereos, the bands playing salsa and reggae and jazz, the radio stations, the whole wonderful, musical world stopped singing?
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What if, when a poet died, the whole world ceased for a moment, hung its collective head and wailed, "This is called heartbreak; how will we live without her poetry?"
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What if artists, not a Picasso or a Ruben, but the artist working in Central Park or in cold studios on landscapes only tourists will buy, what if the flags fell down for them?
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What if a writer, working alone day after day, writing for no one but herself, wrote her final line? Would all the pens run dry? Would she be honored with salutes and pomp and better circumstance?

What if potters, dying with hands covered with talent and clay, left this earthly home? What if the world cracked open just a little, crying "My life will never be the same without her beauty?"
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What if the flags flew half mast for actors, for the joy and the laughter and the sorrow they have brought into our lives? What if, when an actor died, the bells stopped tolling for just one hour? What if every curtain fell?

What if a dancer sank to her knees as she whirled, leaving this place called earth? Would all the tangos suddenly stop? Would every castanet be silent for just one day?
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What if?