Wednesday, March 21, 2012
There are one hundred and twelve seams
along the sidewalk on our block, plus
twenty eight cracks of varying length and width
that you tiptoe around, careful not to let loose
your spiderweb grasp of my hand.
Music plays in my mind sometimes,
random and unbidden,
Charlie Parker or Coltrane,
Mendelssohn or a rare acoustic set by the
Yeah Yeah Yeahs. On a bicycle these
same seams bump out the rhythm to
“Maps,” or “Bessie’s Blues.” Then I imagine
your wedding reception, our first dance,
you are twirling in our spiderweb grasp,
and I will be careful not to let go again.
c. 2012, by Martin A. Bartels (working draft)
Part of my new collection, "Unlanguage"