The Guitar

I swear he tucked his laughter
inside it for me to find,
scented with soft notes
of the recent past—

like the bottle of aftershave
I unearthed, unopened,
from beneath the sink,
only to breathe
its sharp musk
a few weeks later
as it visited, somehow,
rooms he never did.

I crawl inside
the hollow body,
press an ear
to its uterine walls:
umbilical strings vibrate
against wood & flesh,
tethering me there.
How easy, when muffled,
to mistake a simple strum
for a full-bodied laugh
exploding its way
up the throat.

Ed Doerr is a teacher and the author of the poetry chapbook Sautéing Spinach with My Aunt (Desert Willow Press, 2018). Additional work can be found in Water~Stone Review, Hippocampus Magazine, The American Journal of Poetry, Sky Island Journal, trampset, One Teen Story, and many more.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.