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April 2007 The "you" in this poem is a few different people. But it's wonderful how a little pleasant music can soothe the worst of bad moods. | |
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I was growling at you in my head so loudly that my throat was ragged as the ribbons that the laundry had become. Left out – so I tore the clotheslines down. A vengeful piano sounded discords in a square black box, the notes gouged into the walls while I waited. I closed the lid on you. Angry. Still bitter as a grapefruit upon your arrival, I could barely keep a tether on the sarcasm: a horse so prepared to kick and scathe. But your fingers on the strings of a guitar were tea manifest as sound waves, soothing as spring rain, or the smell of clean cotton. Blame is impossible to maintain when you tug the notes out, gently and send them drifting off like dandelion fluff through the air. So thank you – thank you and that guitar – for filling the basement air with tea and rain and cotton and my head and heart with dandelions. |