Father Strummed Guitar
She never learned to play herself.
There was a part of her that always yearned
To try, to find the song hidden in those strings —
There was a part of her that thought, perhaps,
If she understood the mechanics
the magic would be gone.
Her father strummed a steel string and sang her
The songs he fell in love to —
Her lullabies were “Blackbird” and “Wonderful Tonight;”
“Daisy Jane” awoke in her a melancholy
That she clung to like a well-loved blanket.
Summer nights were rain-rattled windows,
The metallic drag of her father’s fingers along the frets,
And his smoke-cragged voice,
singing Clapton.
Other poems of mine you might like:
You can find Jess at All Your Crooked Heart.
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