THE BANJO
The last one left.
I listened to its cords and
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