Thursday, January 30, 2014

She's Playing A Dulcimer


Long into the darkness,
this record scratching
and popping like music
used to do, we lay
back on the bed.

Instead of the
cottage cheese ceiling
that hid what,
 I could only imagine,
we would close our eyes
and see…
green fountains
filigreed
with the rarest,
most precious,
clear-all-heart
redwood.

 “She’s playing a dulcimer,” my sister would say.

And then…
we would
make the mistake,
of opening
our                                                                                         eyes.