I still have her guitar
The one the church gave her

I started to practice; to learn it’s tune

but when I strummed its brittle strings, her sad voice was all I heard


Her blue-green wrinkled eyes bored through me

Her soft song rang in my ears



I said I needed space, I needed distance from her past


but every time I picked up that old guitar

her silver-grey presence reappeared


What used to be fond memories,
playing in my mind as I held its wooden body close,


transformed into drunken hazes- to a sea of black disguised as blue

……………………………………………………

How can I still practice, still play this guitar
when every time I look at it

I just think of you…