I tried untangling the drawstrings
on the folding window blinds–
someone left them tied in impossible knots

I spent hours sorting the pieces
of the 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle
into piles of guitar fragments

Fender logo, fretboards and lots of
black background nothingness until slowly
an autographed Strat showed itself

all curlicued happy snarls
and whammy bar and sidemen
drunk but still wailing eyeing the blond

at the bar who would make the night in a Tupelo juke
less like a box of rusty car parts
and more like a savage night run across the delta

in a growly Mustang hand on a tan thigh
tongue in ear mistake worth making a thousand ways
all the pieces fitting together all the guitars friends

who forgave my decades absence
while I worked on drawstring knots
making a Tibetan mandala out of sand

again and again and again
on my knees in red robes
practicing breathing like I didn’t know how

7 responses to “Practicing

  1. I especially like that final secret….

  2. I wrote “tercet”, not “secret”… auto correct has a very limited vocabulary đŸ™‚

  3. thanks cynthia. someday ill write a poem and let autocorrect co-write it and see what happens.

  4. Cynthia Jobin is right: that final tercet comes as a surprise.

  5. This is a remarkable poem; polished, full of surprises and highlights. Bravo!

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