Up And Down Her Neck
“Up and Down Her Neck”, a story and a song in one loose metaphor, by a young boy describing his loving parents as he observed them over the years near his 14th birthday, many years ago.
Most years she idly sits now,
With long stillness against the wall,
Must have been a movement,
Ages past she’d enthrall
Hands will thicken,
Hands grow numb,
Joy won’t often sing,
It’s only spoken.
A touch of gray
But he doesn’t mind,
Cuz’ those days he’d play
Peaked before they declined.
Now he sits still as she does,
Quiet and aged,
Poised; two quiet doves.
He sits by the window
Sagging cheeks paler: exposed to the light.
She sits in the corner below,
Listening next door in delight,
Across the hallway,
Through the open door,
Next to the china display,
Came something the woman could not ignore.
A ringing finger-stroke,
Shoots color through the house.
Bands of rainbow from a throat,
Reach his spouse.
Chords threw her into a rush,
A blast of red autumn leaves,
Thinking of more golden days,
Swelling up into a vibrant reverie.
Oh! How beautiful the waves!
The tone, the yielding wood would!
The voice: full of youth again; unafraid
But there by the pane he stood,
Clutch the rail,
As past is again assailed by the present.
Don’t let it outside, youth’s over.
Still the sound came.
Dancing outside his icy ears,
Melting his stoic face,
Eyes start to soften, a time before fear,
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He used to sing like that,
With fire in his belly.
She remembers too.
How with her he’d carve out a melody,
So young; full of life,
Him and his muse would
Intertwine making love,
Making music when they could.
Quick and nimble,
He would gently kiss and peck,
With flowing tips so simple,
Up and down her neck.
Metal bands sang together,
Plucking through the house,
He would shout with her,
The young man and his spouse,
Her body curved across a thumb,
He palmed the grain like drums,
She always served and
Sang for him, love in the lungs.
They lived their one song.
She; his fine instrument.
He: the bringer of music.
Young swift hands across beloved acoustic,
Time had united their fate,
Many years ago
And though
She no longer resonate,
Youth lives nearby under creases, folds,
Bloom passed; waned their glow,
She went to the corner below,
Sat glued staring through that window.
She smiled at him,
He turned to look,
Hunched and gray,
He smiled and leaned over,
Head against hers.
They listened to the past
Echo through the house,
As she smirked right back.
Dusty guitar in the corner lay,
A memory of when they used to play,
And sing and long for what mere words can’t say.
#poetry #highschool #throwbackthursday #poem #metaphor #growingold #ethanhoeft
