Martin

After school I spent afternoons
Learning the universal language,
Notes stacking up and up and
Erupting into chords.
The music shop was on Main Street,
The kind you find in every small town.
Piled up in a display case like
Thousands of miniature pyramids,
And just as mysterious,
I see a tool connecting flesh to object.
Hard/heavy/medium/soft
I always eyed their triangular
Tortoise shell beauty.
I pinched it with two fingers as it brushed
Carefully against bronze wire.
I guide it to my opening
And strum a perfect G.
Now I keep it in a hand-carved wooden box,
A heart engraved on one side.