Witnessing “The Old Guitarist” by Pablo Picasso

a poem by Andrea Laws

theslightest gesture

strumsfaint strings with

bluecrinkled fingers that

bringforth your song

greycreates the energy cold

yetshivers are not seen;

beliefthat the answers are

writtenwithin your bones

yourguitar,

heldin many ways,

manycircumstances,

manysmiles

butthis time

thetune is familiar;

anaudition

foryour own skin

silentgratitude equals

onepenny for a

king’scoffin in an

opengrave

thebroken window’s draft

setsthe melody as

hungryflies whisper

Playit again.

Playit again.

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