She was picking at its strings
uninterested and rather clumsily,
the way a crude macaque would
when grooming for nothing of interest.
Muted diminished thirds
wobbled
over open fifths.
She pointed to the center of the guitar
and said:
the music is there inside,
and it comes out on its tippy toes
to dance in the light.
Yes it does, dear.
And you,
my tiny earth of thirty-five pounds
are here inside,
doing nothing I can see
except for holding
the sum of the universe together.
Photography by Karen Anahi Olvera Vargas
As a school teacher, composer, and photographer, I try each day to carry less interest in the things I already know, and more fascination for what I decide to do about the things I don’t know.