Tarnished Strings

This was an early poem written for my Creative Writing class. I revised it several times, this was just the first draft.

"Ice skating rink is where they first met,

Time goes by – so many stories you could tell

Flip through the songbook, this one they’d sing as a duet,

The guitars were shields; their coats of mail…

She a West Coast rebel, pocket sized, dye streaks, big grin

He was a dreamer, doggone loyal, barbed-wire thin

There’s still photos from the point-and-shoot cameras

Them talking at the bonfire as the elm tree dropped samaras…

Her painted fingers pick melody on the strings, bead by bead,

Like the jewelry in her spare time she would fix

His hand played the rhythm, thumb then palm he’d strum,

Together – their music mixed…

Steve doesn’t get out much these days,

While Abby Lee, she sings alone

Today she no longer plays,

He stares wondering at his silent phone…

The kids grew up; they’re doing well,

They hear news by the occasional email

(Within, Proverbs 21:19 highlighted)

Ice skating rink is where they first fell…"