Day 69: Skin on Steel

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When you wake to the sound of strings
you forgot you haven’t heard –

I haven’t heard  –

that sound for so long.
so many years.

 

skin on steel,
slide and grit,
that pic,
that pic,

 

has been the song to my chop wood, carry water
for countless hard-worked days.
o how that cadence kept my back from breaking
under all the weight-

-under all that water and wood.

but the music went, one day.
duty died it away.
the beat went still
in that boy,
in that heart,
in that bedroom,
and the safe, blue, dark.

 

but I kept           moving

i        kept

moving

i kept

somewhere, that song,

 

in my chop, wash,

carry, knead,

beat, brush,

bandage, seed,

hurry, hurry, hurry,

I kept it for you.

I keep it still.

 

low tones rising
high voice crying
accidentals warning:
give heed.
the song will change again.

plucking braided rhythm
it’s the first time I’ve been with’m
in years maybe, who knows?

When you finally, finally say
with note and strum and chord
who you were,
who you are,
who’s the who you’re moving toward,

play, baby, play,
‘cause I can hear you now.
it may be I would stay
if that song you would allow
out of you and aching,
all defenses breaking

when you play.

play, baby, play.
it might be I would stay
if there were someone here beside

and singing too.

 

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