Hidden in the Hollow

Pops once played blues on
a classical guitar with no
pick and no
experience.

Reliving those teen days I felt
cooped
up and lovesick and watched him
play
chords:

one two one two three

nylon strings like
veins, his husky fingers slid,
etching out vibrato-bass-

rhythms and high-pitched-

stings, consummating
a found-my-girl rhythm, I had yet

to play.



I was gifted dad’s guitar last Christmas:


one two one two three


notes in chaos from fingers ignorant to her chords.