spikybluegirl

Protg


fingers trip

stumble over coiled
metal warming to their

touch (this being the first
session, the first attempt) mirroring
his fingers, his instrument. she

hasnt ruined this communion yet,
but less than a year
will pass before he stares at her
from his recliner, glance dull

and unforgiving. she wont be
the one to accuse him of it (her aunt
will suggest he hugs her too tightly,
loves her too much) so she will
wonder, doubt, pull away. but

for now its christmas
day and outside the grass is dead
and the basement is cold, egg-shelled
soundproof walls cradling

the initial shaky hopeful strums
on the guitar he (her favorite
uncle) presented her with

hands trembling in the desire to make her
his only apprentice (and more, to leave the ambition

in her hands).