Music sparks wonderful memories of my childhood. My mother had a Spanish guitar that belonged to my grandfather. The dark as ebony finish made you believe you were looking into an endless black gazing pool and if you touched it, your hand would truly become immersed in the wood.
Before she started to play, mother always closed her eyes as she lightly strummed the steel strings. She hummed the notes while she adjusted the tuning keys to make sure it was perfectly tuned to her ear and mind before she continued to play. In spite of the fact, my mother never learned to read music, she had a gift for creating her own melodies and lyrics. Some of these songs were silly juvenile ditties that made me laugh and dance; while others were so compellingly beautiful your senses were free to drift away. I was certain when I looked at her calm face, her thoughts did move her to another place as she became one with her instrument…
Play Me
by Monica Sharpe
I sleep under his bed
Safely in my case.
I hear him as he lies down
Every night.
He prays for the future
And yearns for the past.
He dreams for the days
I spent with him…when
He pulls me out from my slumber
And places me on his leg.
I cannot see,
I can only feel.
His fingers flutter across me,
Caressing my neck.
Familiar again.
We speak no words to one another,
But I understand him completely.
The melody he creates tells me everything.
I feel his ambition,
Desires.
Frustrations,
And joy.
I cannot speak,
But convey what cannot be spoken.
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