Release the pressure:
Slide the right thumb
From the first string down
And what comes out, always,
Is distinctly sad.
To arrange the acoustic setting,
I lie back against the couch,
Legs stretched and ankles crossed,
Relaxed from the weight of
Outside worries.
In my arms the guitar,
A classic vanished mahogany,
Cradled as if the two of us pose
For an opening samba.
Played by this instrument
For the second week now,
Keeping your instructions in mind,
I order my fingers in their proper
G Major places, straining
My middle one to pin
The correct chords.
My first strum jangles but without you
To tell me to stop, I strum
And strum anyway forgetting
The string patterns, fret tuning,
And chord series that composes
Music into your decided tenor.
I rather release the pressure, the strain
In the strings. Fingers untangled
To feel with the bleeding melody
As it plucks the heart to beat
With what you call discordant,
Broken.
