“To be ignorant of what occurred before you were born is to remain always a child. For what is the worth of human life, unless it is woven into the life of our ancestors by the records of history?” ~ Marcus Tullius Cicero

Sunday, January 25, 2015

An untitled poem

They opened the show with the sound
of an ancient violin, a variation
from the usual fanfare on coronet.

That piercing siren song split me
open, like a hammer, right between
my eyes, where now, a full

five minutes later
the ache is only just
beginning  to recede.

My mother plays a violin.
and I dread the day when
I will no longer hear that sound

and not
break down
in tears.

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