Witnessing “The Old Guitarist” by Pablo Picasso

a poem by Andrea Laws

the slightest gesture

strums faint strings with

blue crinkled fingers that

bring forth your song

grey creates the energy cold

yet shivers are not seen;

belief that the answers are

written within your bones

your guitar,

held in many ways,

many circumstances,

many smiles

but this time

the tune is familiar;

an audition

for your own skin

silent gratitude equals

one penny for a

king’s coffin in an

open grave

the broken window’s draft

sets the melody as

hungry flies whisper

Play it again.

Play it again.

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