Of My Beloved Violin
Of My Beloved Violin
“Just a moment,” my husband said,
Beginning his preparations to move
My paralyzed legs off the bed, needing
To avoid his stepping on the violin, which
I glanced to see lying so elegantly, so shinning
A new-brown, rich, on the floor underneath,
Where it didn’t belong, but, of course,
Somehow came to rest, part of the mess
Of my being unable to rise and clean, tho still,
I kept on doing the many things lying back
Allowed: like drawing, writing, reading,
And, obviously, it must be, playing music.
However, there had to be some awkwardness in
The placing of the pillow and the violin upon
My shoulder. I thought, with wonder, a bit drowsy,
How did I manage it? Shifting that beautiful
Violin between my neck and shoulder to play
The music I so love? But I realized,
The odd seeing of the difficult alignment
Starting with the absurd picture of a collector’s violin
Pushed under the bed, was not a scene from my own
Reality. When I told Jim, “No! Don’t! I will move it!”
As he was reaching down, I had in fact called
Out from within the picture of my napping dream.
********. ********. ********. **********
(c) sally Young eslinger 1/1/2021
Thanks be to God
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