Lady Plays the Blues

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Thu, 23 Apr 2015
  • 735 reads
2 comments
 
No curtain call – not this time, 
not ever again – you with unrivalled prowess
at coaxing the blues from a silver-tongued, 
soprano sax...
 
refrains, drip, even now, through my mind,
like honey from a spoon...
 
you with eyes the greenest of things blue...
Lavandula, Larkspur, and Love-In-A-Mist
set in grandma's vase of swirling zaffre glass
 
who adored nothing more than ‘lazy-daisy-days’, 
as she called them – sat on our wooden swing 
always squeaked – Dad was going to fix
but never got around to.
 
Watching the curtain close on you,
goodbyes choke in my throat; if only we could
revisit the house of our childhood, one more time
before you go...
 
the photo of our father on the dresser,
how the glow from the lamp stroked his brow...
his hair, his crooked smile
 
and yes...even that ancient dresser
you painted blue - now there's a surprise, embellished
with the skittish, orange line of a butterfly, flitting
in and out of a folding, unfolding sky.
 
But, perhaps, I'm being selfish...wanting
to keep you for myself.  How much he loved 
you to play; maybe, now he’ll get the chance to listen,
all over again.  
 
I do hope so, but wherever you are gone,
I wouldn't mind betting  you’ll have an apron
filled with flowers...ridiculously,
ubiquitously blue. 
Certificate PG
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Comments

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Memories, beautifully captured.

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, Philip, with knobs onsmiley...Bright, shiny ones.

Tina