Silent and aching
the ancient banjo reclines in the corner
without strings or tailpiece
neck twisted in homage of prior abuse
of steel strings grafted to untruss'd frame
How long has it been since you last felt the warmth of human touch?
Or the quiver of gently plucked string?
For how long have you been silent,
longing to raise your voice
in joy, or sadness or simple prayer?
A covenant I offer.
A pact between us.
For my part, new strings,
a bridge of maple, tailpiece and resurrection.
For yours, you must sing once again.
Sing of your history. Of the day of your birth
and the hands and ears that have loved you.
I will listen and learn.
And I too will love.
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