The songwriter's art

in the swirl and rush of the multitude
you drew me aside to a quiet corner
by the stair and standing by the pile of shoes
played a new song of someone's love and peaches

leaning my ear close I faced the din
while the song drew me in
through a window of words
framed by melody to your small kitchen

an apparition of your redhaired wife
standing at the sink in a cloud of steam
hands wrapped by cotton towels, funneling
peaches into another glass jar

and you with your large hands
standing behind, reaching out
and the jolt of surprising love
the sound of hot glass breaking

the kitchen floor covered in glass
and summer peaches and laughter
and hot kisses rising like steam
the thread of melody weaving through

then the sound stopped, the last chord
drained away, my ears filled again
with the chatter of the crowd
and my eyes with this wide white room

I looked down and saw
your large hands resting on the silent guitar


Photo found at pickyourown.org.