it strikes a cord

the notes of her song
echo across
so much unfeeling air
between us
and maybe you’ll
say it’s just a vibration
of molecules
moving this way
or that
but what i feel
is some invisible finger plucking
silver strings
deep within stroking
cords lying dormant
from lack of use
perhaps
or simply forgotten
like some priceless
stradivarius cast aside
in the corner
collecting
dust.

as tears stream
down these stubbled grey
cheeks i recall
the words of my dad
who taught me
at an early age
that boys don’t cry
as if somehow
our collective humanity
comes at a much
steeper
price for
holding it all
within.

with an angelic face
she finishes her song which
lifts me up
and what bubbles
to the surface
is a secret longing for a home
i’ve never seen
so far removed from
this place, and
if you’ll kindly pardon
this momentary lapse
of weakness
don’t take it personally
when i confess
(with abject humility)
how i’d rather be
planted there than
lost in this
space.

for noémie lorzema