I Am a Small Guitar

Photograph by Jose Padua
I am a small guitar in a large room on a Saturday
sometime after four when the last lunch guest
has driven home, beating the rain, beating the
worst of the traffic, beating the rest of the weekend
in coming to a conclusion. I am a gravestone in
a beautiful cemetery, set firmly in the ground
two centuries ago and long before everyone who
is alive today was born, was lost, was estranged,
was made to remember mistakes and misjudgments
while trying to recall a cool morning’s warm colors
and the shade of damp leaves drying under an
early evening’s angle of light. I am three hundred
men and three hundred women or three million men
and three million women or one man and one woman
or no man and no woman and no thing and no thought
and no long or short way of getting from there to here,
just a path marked with stone or cleared of brush
that everyone has to take. I am a large country on
a small planet or a small ocean between large drifting
continents because the world is moving from then
to now and we are a gift that must always remember
to act like a gift, expecting night to follow day and
small rivers to run and swell their banks too many times
for anyone to count, too swiftly to never feel the
beautiful sorrow of dangerous hours. And I weep
and I work, I diminish and grow like muscle and bone
because I am a guitar, made of wood, metal, and wire,
and I shine even when I am still, even when I am cold.

-Jose Padua

Photograph by Jose Padua

12 responses to “I Am a Small Guitar

  1. Beautiful, powerful. What a great piece of poetry.

  2. This poem is beautiful and speaks (strikes a chord) to me of that feeling that all of us who strive to write poems must feel; the desire to be in some small way an instrument of truth and beauty. Of course, our truths and beauty vary but that’s what makes life interesting, I guess. One of my very favorites if yours! Leo

  3. What a beautiful poem…

  4. steve@stevesober.com

    A big smile from and for this ex guitar player!

  5. Yes I enjoy to play guitar , to learn melody when all the cigars never plays for me greensleaves what a pity never can explain me the melody , can you learn me this part ? thanks for your nice poetry

    Provenance : Courrier pour Windows 10

    De : Shenandoah Breakdown Envoyé le :samedi 12 octobre 2019 06:24 ; À : genevieveblandin221@yahoo.fr Objet :[New post] I Am a Small Guitar

    shenandoahbreakdown posted: ” I am a small guitar in a large room on a Saturday sometime after four when the last lunch guest has driven home, beating the rain, beating the worst of the traffic, beating the rest of the weekend in coming to a conclusion. I am a gravestone in a b”

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