The woman living in the guitar 1

I’ll walk through the body

Dark hollow bowl-shaped at times 

We hear the atonement of ashy strings 

Plucked too quickly and the scratch of their broken 

Nails attempting chords

Mostly we hear the footsteps 

Of dust mites gathering on the surface 

Engorging on themselves 

Piling high one on top of the other 

Until someone’s hand wipes them off


Mattie Grace Levy

I'm a black woman, a classically trained oboist, a self-taught composer, and an introspective poet trying to comprehend my thoughts.

Leave a Reply

Be the First to Comment!