THE BANJO

The last one left.

He walked out into traffic,
Was hit by an oncoming 

Life. 

And anchored himself to the 
Middle of the sea where

He and his girl and their dog
[And their dreams] 

Tread water eternally. 

I watched as he sank
And gulped and sometimes

A boat would come by and 
He would put up his feet,

Stretch his arms and
Say, “This is the good life!”

And his girl couldn’t sleep
And he found dark, cooling holes to 
Dip his head into 

Each evening. 

I stopped watching. 

I crossed to the other side 
And sat on a bench

Tied my hands together,
And observed passers-by.

Solitude. 

Beautiful rays of sun 
Pressed through clouds
Like red fingers massaging
My skull. 

And when I would relax, 

They would seep down into 
Me and grow wings
And flutter around in my heart

For hours at time. 

I was never really alone. 

In the depth of me
These rays. 

And even though 
The sun was so friendly,
So loyal, so committal, 

My eyesight left me 
And found a set of stairs
At the top of the subway exit. 

A beautiful banjo leaned there, 

Playing hymns and prayers 
And chanting for the heart
To wake-up. 

For the spine to straighten. 

For the eye’s to see. 

The melodies spoke of courage
And honesty and 

Wrapped around me like 
Sea waves turned to silk

Not separate from any, 

Dissolving the coarse
Rigid staircase of 
My mind

Into sea.

Into a straight and narrow path. 

Untangling the blood flow in the brain 
From thoughts. 

Unbinding the concepts and ideas
That lay trapped behind dark doors,

In corners of eyes, in remote
Places in both ears, 

And in knees.

In the deep white marrow of bone, 
[This was the hardest to get out.] 

But the melody gently stirred, 
Loosened things from
Their place.

I traveled to the banjo’s side. 
Held it tight. 
Separated its strings. 

And entered into
Down its long neck 
To where its

Melody is born. 

And I touched it there. 
And it touched me. 

My fingers turned to silver

My face burst into blue

And the banjo lifted 
Into the heavens
Dropping musical notes

Feathering down upon 
All the people anchored in sea
And in streets. 

And on benches. 

And it glided back to me, 
Returning to my side,

Telling me it had become the most
Glorious bird when it rose

And how it gave
Birth in mid-air

To babies that look like me. 

I listened to its cords and
Reverberated tones back to it
With a tiny pocket mirror

That lay dormant in my heart.

And the babies, 
Neither male nor female, 

Applauded from above, 
at the sound of us:

Their banjo father
Making ripples in time, 

And me
Protecting it from oncoming traffic.

stephanie lorentzen-jordan

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