A distant dissonance
Deepens in threat
As my lips form new syllables
And fingers, new frets
It’s my grandmother’s voice—
My namesake, in fact—
That waltzes in echoes
Through bright chambered chest
Amassing new power
Revving dense to unfurl
Like peonies in bloom, or
Cherry blossom pearls
In descent.

It’s true:
That for which I’m meant—
Good time,
Good fortune,
Good riddance—
I will only know
After roared repent
Where I’ll expel
Dusk’s detriment,
And bellow soul’s
Percussive song
In long-overdue
Performance