across the room from me, my guitar
pulses bright colors, throbs dreams
I can’t ignore. I think about sleep
but the music’s too loud.
my guitar sprouts lilies
not intended to twine, purrs
of birds I’ll never see
but it knows all about them.
even idle, I can feel
the razor-slide of metal strings
cutting grooves into worn calluses
changing my fingerprints just enough that
future scholars will recognize the damage.
my guitar blooms like a lotus
floating on a blue sea I can’t climb out of
pulses waves of songs near-realized even
when silent, invades my dreams to remind me
that I am not in control of this.
About Holly Day:
Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in The Cape Rock, New Ohio Review, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry collections are A Perfect Day for Semaphore (Finishing Line Press), In This Place, She Is Her Own (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press), A Wall to Protect Your Eyes (Pski’s Porch Publishing), I'm in a Place Where Reason Went Missing (Main Street Rag Publishing Co.), and The Yellow Dot of a Daisy (Alien Buddha Press).
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