Plectra: Day 2,322

I swore I would never do this, but here I am trying to start a blog using my little day poems.  Here’s one from a couple of months ago.

Plectra
(Day 2,322)

Everything vibrates
whether we admit it
or not. The piano
is a percussive instrument

I could not play
very well—the harpsichord
is plucked like a child
from a secure sleep

into male and female
shouts going to different lengths
and depths to be
heard. No one was listening. A rock

glass smashing against a wooden step,
a china vase shattering
against a windshield, impervious
to the drama. When all motion stops,

and the permanent split is identified
and legally documented,
vibrations carry on elsewhere. 

I only played the baroque instrument
once—I was that child.

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