Blue Guitar
a favourite of mine – I loved
conceiving it love repeating it like children I hope youll enjoy
her blue
guitar leans in the corner
against the stereo speaker
where she placed it
she
liked as she used to tell him in bed after they made love how
invisible fingers
radiating from the speaker held it stroked its strings played impossible chords
the guitar sounded so different
shed never be able to recreate that music imagine or remember it
she said often the music was in accord to the music hed play during their lazy afternoons together his imperfect scratched 78s the keenly-guarded refined 33 1/3s and those raucous 45s
she loved
the echoes in her guitar its reverberations slipping like snakes in its
chamber
she loved how the wind moving through the house visited it too
those days when she complained it was too cold and why did he have to have the house open
and on those days when the house was too hot
and the overhead fanblades were desperate to have their go at it
and the days since
when she hadnt been there to complain
but he
would imagine she did
imagine all the qualities of her voice its timbre and tone
when she was elated
or distraught
when she was dreamy and contemplative
or singing with her eyes closed
all her
persons he loved and didnt that she shared with him every
moment they improbably had
without thought hesitation or reservation
they figuring improbably that they would always have
stretched across the wide warm gulf of their living together
and
now the sound hole of her guitar seemed far far larger for
each and every day they
didnt have
he was
jealous of her guitar
her
fingerprints her tentarch or were they whorls invisibly etched onto
its strings
its frets and tuning keys
her oils and scent on it
they were gone from him
his midnight showers eroded them from his skin its streams
of water deafening his ears so he couldnt hear his crying or feel his hot tears
running down his face
deafening him
a reason he fingered
because he could no longer hear her
hear her voices
feel her touch
blue
her blue guitar
leaning dusty at the speaker
near the albums and jackets and paper slips brittlely ageing yellowing without the kiss of sunlight
as he
without her kisses
warm touch
reviving strokes
blue
1502, CloverSunday, 1 6. 23
again 1350, Monday -- Christmas, 25 12. 23
