Lady Plays the Blues
By Silver Spun Sand
Thu, 23 Apr 2015
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2 comments
No curtain call – not this time,
not ever again – you with unrivalled prowess
at coaxing the blues from a silver-tongued,
soprano sax...
refrains, drip, even now, through my mind,
like honey from a spoon...
you with eyes the greenest of things blue...
Lavandula, Larkspur, and Love-In-A-Mist
set in grandma's vase of swirling zaffre glass
who adored nothing more than ‘lazy-daisy-days’,
as she called them – sat on our wooden swing
always squeaked – Dad was going to fix
but never got around to.
Watching the curtain close on you,
goodbyes choke in my throat; if only we could
revisit the house of our childhood, one more time
before you go...
the photo of our father on the dresser,
how the glow from the lamp stroked his brow...
his hair, his crooked smile
and yes...even that ancient dresser
you painted blue - now there's a surprise, embellished
with the skittish, orange line of a butterfly, flitting
in and out of a folding, unfolding sky.
But, perhaps, I'm being selfish...wanting
to keep you for myself. How much he loved
you to play; maybe, now he’ll get the chance to listen,
all over again.
I do hope so, but wherever you are gone,
I wouldn't mind betting you’ll have an apron
filled with flowers...ridiculously,
ubiquitously blue.
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Comments
1 User voted this as great feedback
Memories, beautifully
Permalink Submitted by Philip Sidney on
Memories, beautifully captured.
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Thanks, Philip, with knobs on
Permalink Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
Thanks, Philip, with knobs on
...Bright, shiny ones.
Tina
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