a poem

Words by: Ash Dowling
Art by: Ash Dowling

I watch your hands on your guitar, one wrapped 

around her neck, the other caressing her, up and down.

you carry her as though she were as light as a piccolo melody. 

her breath catches in her frets for a moment 

then she sings, clear and rousing 

as a bird’s dawnsong.

I love how your hands, too, can rouse me from my early morning daze,

but also cradle me gently to sleep at night. 

they will come back in my dreams, again and 

again, around and around, faster then 

slower 

and faster once more

mirroring the way you make sure to mix fast and slow songs

whenever you perform on stage,

“it’s the best way to keep the crowd engaged!”

do they know that it is your hands 

that set the pace,

that keep the beat,

that choose the key, then change it 

ever so seamlessly?

oh, how I love when your hands modulate me,

higher and higher until our song turns 

to screams. 

I wonder whether your guitar, watching us from the wall,ever gets jealous, too?