In the corner
rarely used
these days,
Once was my
strongest crutch.
Rounded wooden box,
A hole beneath
the metal strings
capture their vibration.
Though struggles
staying in tune,
when it does...
Beautiful, harmonic
whispers flow,
timid and sweet.
Waiting patiently,
I should use
the wisdom offered.
A name of
a company
once respected,
Long forgotten.
Like my father,
what remains:
The proud letters
unaware of time,
humble origins.
So I pick up
again and play.
Fingers find
Old homes.
Just tourists at
childhood streets.
Nostalgia dances
on the sidewalk,
somber tease.
Youth played
with a vigor,
assertive and strong.
Now each note
stutters of hesitation,
fearing mistakes.
I've been better.
I started worse.
Nostalgia smiles regardless.
Sounds of wood
and metal continue
resonating in me.
I don’t remember
every scale.
Still, I'll always
Know the major
lessons and minor
chords; ingrained.
He seems to be
proud of that.
proud of me.