by Allison Adele Hedge Coke
French braiding her hair for the first time,
my place in Cundiyo, up on Rio Santa Cruz,
so far into our thirties our favs were classic past,
we glimpsed into sistering like four-year-olds
wondering what else was lost to us, our world
augmented with pianist’s blues.
Mom hammering peddles, ivories, hard
melodies punctuating some strange prelude.
Coffee and cigarettes, her basic falter
as she tickled peculiar parallels between
ceilings, curiosities, tumbled up-
side down with illogical clues.
Kept us held there, caught up in wonder
for something unreal, unseen, she knew.
When wanderlust set in, we left one another,
striking wide world, each alone, unproven tunes,
harbor melancholy underneath long
hair left loose to pull us through.
Now gathering chords,
arpeggio, we two.
You can find this poem in Streaming.