THE STRINGS
O how she openly embraces music I would be the instrument
between her legs her fingers on my mellow strings my scroll along her shoulder
and a single point against her arch to hold me steady while she plays I
swell and taper
Barrel pirate of my adolescence now I hear him clumping
on behind me muttering in a honeyed baritone good counsel graveled warnings
life is hard and slow and resonant for one alone and dangerous in company
weigh every measure
Prodigious on the shrill heights he dives a schoolboy
at the quarry in July over and over in the cold and oily water at the rockfoot
never dipping far below the bright surface where ice rises over abandoned
machinery
Always a step in the background she is one whose face
in the photograph is hidden she has turned to hear her neighbor’s whisper
stooped to soothe a fretful child I have looked for her recall her easy
frequent smile
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