First published in Chantwood Magazine, Fall 2017

My legs wide
I hold the guitar close there like
Trying to merge two bodies and
When I play it I can
Feel the tremors in
my stomach I can
Feel it in my jaw

Dark wooden
Curved it always seemed to me
Mysterious like a piece of occult
Furniture as if
Standing at your dresser
Opening and closing
Drawers could be a way
Of making peace
With the universe

And then there’s
An etude where my fingers nothing works
Buzzing like a silent conversation
In a noisy bar it’s
Muted like a kiss
Where your teeth
Are clanking and
I pluck the wrong
String like an
Unwelcome touch

But when I finally
Play that measure right
This sounds dumb but I
Cry a little I
Don’t try it’s just I
Pull sounds from the guitar and it pulls back on me
A little like the moon passing quiet over the sea