The First Time

I can clearly remember the first time:
there it was, in the back of the closet,
the case a little dusty. Not too sure
exactly what it was, I carefully

lifted it free of the stored winter clothes
(breathing in that sour faint lingering scent
of mothballs and dry cleaning plastic wrap)
and set it carefully down on the floor.

At the moment my fingers hit the strings
and that big sound came out, filling the room,
vibrating down and through my whole body,

I knew I would spend the rest of my life
hearing things I just had to learn to play,
and wanting all my friends to sing along.

25 FEB 2003

Share This:

This entry was posted in Poems and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.