Monday, May 11, 2015

Poetry by Rachel Cee

hand beaten nail plucks light ting
light ting hand hewn wood block played with hands
hands of a lover I haven't quite understood yet
hands of a father of friends
hands of a parishioner my father loves
brought here by a mother as a gift the first time I saw one

cardamom cedarwood teakwood brown
none of those first ones are african just chocolate--
dark and dusty the little things notes are little too
tinny tinny
tink tink
frequency pitch tone
fret free ping ping ping plink

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