Where Roads Darken During Daytime
By Martin Willitts Jr
A house is near a grove of trees full of solitude.
A piano on the grained porch has somber notes.
Its sheet music can be weighed by absence.
Like a tree has confessions, a piano dampens
sadness with tiny mallets of spring rain.
Someday the owner will return to the music
bringing the nearness of absence to each note.
There is an expectancy of the trees
tearing skin off the air with their teeth.
The piano wants the melody of lovers
absorbing every fiber of their distance.
From wonder and resolution, every object is waiting.
Birds, dark as castanets, leap out of the cabinet of air
like whirling dervishes.
Process note: “Where Roads Darken During Daytime” began with seeing a upright piano, outside on a porch, with sheet music open, and it was raining enough to dampen the piano and sheet music. I wondered, why anyone would destroy a piano by putting outside where the strings inside would get out of tune? Sometimes, the absence of light is both internal and external.
Martin Willitts Jr is a retired Librarian, and he is the winner of the 2014 International Dylan Thomas Poetry Award. He has over 20 chapbooks of poetry, and he has 8 full-length collections including national ecological award winner “Searching for What You Cannot See” (Hiraeth Press, 2013) and “Irises, the Lightning Conductor For Van Gogh’s Illness” (Aldrich Press, 2014). His forthcoming books include “How to Be Silent” (FutureCycle Ptess) and “God Is Not Amused With What You Are Doing In Her Name” (Aldrich Press).
Blogs at https://poeart2.wordpress.com/