A pearl-plated dove on a small branch,
You can see the rippled feathers facing down
With a contrasting border of cracked, deep brown
My guitar, Alvarez
Alone against the wall
You’d think I’d put it away
But it sits out
Because I can’t ever finish
Whatever these fingers make efforts to play
Two tacks in the wall above her.
Where a calendar once hung
Marked up with reminders to pray for my mom
That calendar is now being used for something else
A list of rules that we drink to when our show comes on.
My fan rumbles in the background
I rarely remember to turn it off.
The rumbling is calming though
It takes me back to the days
When my guitar was put away
Because I finished the songs
And my calendar was hung
Because I prayed.
Static feelings fill my chest
The auburn face put to rest
Iridescent white designs on her neck
6 silver pegs that get to tell the rest
how to sing.
I wish silver pegs would tune my voice into key.
The tacs are clear
Almost not even there
Why can’t I take them down?
Do I think I’ll put the calendar back up?
Go back to playing?
Go back to praying?
My fan rumbles at the thought.
My arms are heavy.
My breath is soft.
I take the tacs down.