Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #231
My Broken Violin
by Belinda Roddie
My broken violin still played a tune,
even when the bow barely touched its strings,
sort of like if a nymph in a lagoon
loses her voice, but her body still sings,
lissome and quivering. One day, I picked
up my poor instrument and let the wood
caress my fingers, cold and hard and slick,
and I began to play a song that would
only be heard by me. The snapped strings sprang
up as if on command, the melody
harsh yet unyielding as each sharp note rang
and rattled the window panes. I finished
the piece by giving my dear friend a kiss.
by Belinda Roddie
My broken violin still played a tune,
even when the bow barely touched its strings,
sort of like if a nymph in a lagoon
loses her voice, but her body still sings,
lissome and quivering. One day, I picked
up my poor instrument and let the wood
caress my fingers, cold and hard and slick,
and I began to play a song that would
only be heard by me. The snapped strings sprang
up as if on command, the melody
harsh yet unyielding as each sharp note rang
and rattled the window panes. I finished
the piece by giving my dear friend a kiss.
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