After Wallace Stevens
This is not about a blue guitar.
But a blues guitar.
Where hands of my brother's friend
were on it in his basement suite playing Angie.
And his wife to be up here from California.
It is ebony and pearl inlaid.
But like Wallace and his 13 blackbirds.
this is another view after Steve moved away and
sold his guitar to my brother.
Blues licks for years
playing the sounds from my brother's home.
And as the years fast forward into the mist--
My brother's ghost is still with me as I pick
up his guitar and move down the frets.
As if his hands and the people
before him are playing.
Playing for me again
against the cold days and nights
that fade into memories.
d. n. simmers is an on line editor with Fine Lines. He is in will be in Poetry Salzburg Review, the Storyteller, Iconoclast, Plainsongs, California Quarterly, Poets Touchstone, Bluestem, and Nomad's Choir. He is on line in poetrymag.com, red river review, new american digital, storyacious, and word press. He is in an newly launched anthology Royal City Poets ( 4) and was in Van Gogh's Ear, Paris France.