Vol 1 No 1 2007
Accidental Poetry Written by My Father
As She Lay in Her Bathtub, Holding a Flute of Wine
Autumn at the End of The Third Man
Cleaning Kill in the Kitchen at Midnight, Father Made a Good Point
Elegy for Josef Hassid (1923-1950)
The violin’s chin rest is a chopping
block. Upon it, you set your head, tilted just.
You close the eyes, raise the bow,
and Father’s gushing applause cuts
out like a tap turned tight. Nothing left
for needles to plough but the pops
of one November’s runout grooves.
These days, we press such silence with blues.
Jason Guriel