Seducing An Old Guitar

Oh Stella,
we need to talk —
we really need to talk.

The conversation will likely go
to expected places — three common chords,
some modified to add space; switched rhythms
to amuse us both; misplaced fingers that sometimes
surprise and sometimes lead to pain;
nothing inspiring or novel on most days.

Once in a while, though, I stretch
and we find something together
that I thought was forever beyond me,
and I’m young again.  I learn something 
about leaving well enough alone
and breaking what’s not broken
and I’m young again with your neck
under one stumbling hand
and your body springing to life
under the other.  We shout low
or whisper loud where we once
repeated what we’d always said.

Sometimes I resist the urge
to close and say everything on my mind.
I hold back that last home tone
and leave the root unresolved.
Those days, Stella, I can feel us
bending back to the past
where every conversation
was always left unfinished
to be taken up again tomorrow —
those days, Stella, old girl,
when we talked and talked
and always found new things to say.

This fretting hand of mine is cramped
and you need new strings;
we’re both showing our age
in every uncleated crack and stain;
yet sometimes, Stella,
and today is one of those days,
we really need to dig in, lift ourselves
out of the rut,
and talk and talk and talk.