Banjo, Dulcimer, Fiddle
By Joan Larkin
Face resting in my palm,
I stretched out long
on the green lawn, listening.
Not listening so much as
loving how air shivered
and sorrow was a tune, a light
index finger downstroke,
a sly joke, a note that repeated.
My mind twanged with it,
grass trembled and shone,
banjo, dulcimer, fiddle
singing my story.
Hush, listen, this
song has a thousand verses.
