Breathing in the Treble Clef

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Your feet are stretched and propped upon
the recliner’s out-flung flap, splayed
as you nap to the sounds of television,

and I’ve parked your wheelchair at
the vanity that holds your photographs,
wheels locked and waiting for you to wake.

Yet what I’d like to do is roll that chair
out the double doors and across
the watered grass, so slick the wheels

hover above the yard, past the iron gate
to Bell Avenue, to the CAP canal,
where I would fling that thing like a stone
until it sank in the muck, or floated off

to the cotton fields of Avondale, then
return to tuck up your afghan and tap
my toes to your back beat of breath,
sung out in the room’s treble clef,

listening to the harmony of your voice
as it resonates, like a one-man choir,
waiting for you to wake and teach to me
the words to your lovely, long song.

Richard Fenwick

Richard Fenwick’s poetry has been published in numerous American and UK journals, and his first collection, Around the Sun Without a Sail, was published in 2012. Richard lives in Tucson, Arizona, where he works with Holocaust survivors, translating their histories for publication. His follow-on collection, Unusual Sorrows, is scheduled for publication in early 2015.

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