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21502Re: [ticket2write] Re: Resurrection in the Key of E (John)

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  • Carol Carpenter
    Jan 1, 2005
      John,
       
      Thanks for your kind words. I'm glad to have my friend back home.
       
      I think it was the last bottle of my mother's perfume that I dropped. The bottle shattered on the bathroom tile, sending the liquid in all directions. And of course, they didn't make that kind anymore. Gosh, I remember the name was "Yardley's Bond Street", and actually not a very expensive brand at the time. Sentimental fools we mortals are.
       
      You said yesterday that you thought I had about 15 items I could write about in my essay, "My Worst Nightmare." Care to elaborate? I am considering putting about twelve together into a book format, perhaps in time for my summer writing conference. My first piece to this group back in June was entitled "Football Boys", a creative non-fiction piece about me responding to help young college boys when they overheated. Definitely more humorous than my last piece--a nice contrast, I think.

      John <brightasafig@...> wrote:


      Very nice, especially the first half. You put the guitar in the
      reader's hands. To me it's about friendship(I have a large footed
      boy too, but it was my small footed daughter who punched a hole in
      my guitar. When I was a boy a broke a valuable Chinese plate and a
      toy sailing boat my grandfather made). John

      --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, Carol Carpenter
      <carol_emt87@y...> wrote:
      >
      > Resurrection in the Key of E
      >

      >
      > A gift unequaled, a Gibson guitar
      >
      > on my twelfth birthday
      >
      > beautiful gloss, tuned and taut
      >
      > golden figure, lustrous as glass, sensuous
      >
      > curves like Marilyn Monroe
      >
      > snug against my lap
      >
      > resonance vibrato, a lover's embrace
      >
      > strumming harmonic rapture, my best friend
      >
      > childhood conqueror, flushing out the dark corners,
      >
      > warming cold hearts, and campfire songs.
      >

      >
      > My oldest child, a large footed boy, accidentally
      >
      > knocked you over, fracturing your neck, stealing
      >
      > the music locked beneath frets, entangled
      >
      > strings, mangled mahogany, heartache for my
      >
      > lost friend, sweet broken rosewood that
      >
      > showed me how to dream.
      >

      >
      > But all is not lost, a hero arises
      >
      > splint up the carcass, bandage the neck
      >
      > carefully extricate my precious instrument
      >
      > to guitar man Vince, an ex-EMT,
      >
      > in backboard and collar, I relinquished my friend
      >
      > his kind face laughed at the sight
      >
      > of a guitar splinted like an car wreck victim
      >
      > ready for Life Flight, and he said he would try to
      >
      > repair the fracture with glue.
      >

      >
      > Trusting, I left and two days passed by
      >
      > a call to my house, my friend will survive
      >
      > glued and braced, one mahogany chip missing
      >
      > I sit here tonight with my friend
      >
      > nestled snug across my lap,
      >
      > my alto voice shaky, grateful
      >
      > tears cascade down my cheeks
      >
      > and I sing old folk songs alone
      >
      > to the soft, starry night.
      >

      >
      > Carol J. Carpenter
      >
      > I must thank Jerry for the encouragement to write this piece. Look
      on my profiles page for a picture of my splinted guitar, which is
      now repaired and back home with me.
      >

      >

      >
      >
      >            
      > ---------------------------------
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