The blue guitar

When the blue guitar came
your dolls had already
become strangers to your hands
slipping without complaint
into the lost corners of childhood.


You picked out the first sounds
and I recalled suddenly
your blue dress catching the sun
as you skipped and sang in a gaggle
of small girls in the playground.


Soon you will skip out of this street,
the blue guitar on your back,
humming your own melody,
looking for your new address.
I will turn and catch the dolls staring.

Published in The Blue Guitar (Salmon Poetry 2009) and The Rialto (2007)
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