I Am Like a Restrung Guitar
Unwound, unwound, unwound
with lowering moans and sighs the old dead strings
give up their place. A release
of tension. Freed from peg and anchor
they lie, silent on the floor.
New strings spring from enveloped coils;
leap out, eager to take their place,
to discover their voices.
Wound, wound, wound
with hopeful ascending trills
and the music is renewed
and renews.
It takes time and patience,
constantly re-tuning to reach the right notes,
but new strings are willing to stretch,
willing to take the tension
just so they can sing.
I am that guitar.
I have new strings.
Sing with me.
#55
Linda Studley 