Blonde-Wood Hi Fi

Blonde-Wood Hi Fi

(“The Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, says, ‘If you come back to me you will be saved. Only by remaining calm and trusting in me can you be strong.’” …but you don’t want to do that.” Isaiah 30:15)

It is rarely the loud that drowns the good,
nor the quiet that overcomes the whispers.
Arpeggios can fence us in as quickly as power chords
cranked to eleven.
The silence of solitary can stir the uncertain

in mirrors of our own expectations.

It is the quiet lights of home we long for,
the way Papa’s music played on the blonde-wood hi-fi.
It is the front porch speaker with Peter, Paul and Mary
and The Kinston Trio. It is the comedy lp of the
Smothers Brothers and Bill Cosby. They always
sounded the same at home.

It was the 45s I borrowed from my best friend’s sister,
“Hello Goodbye” with “I am The Walrus” on the other side.

It became the Celtic flutes and bluegrass I loved,
and then Count Basie with Dave Brubeck expanding
the cuisine first birthed orbiting a spindle with the
magical needle reproducing the air’s vibration to
a circle of spinning vinyl.

It is my Father’s house where music took my hand,
falling asleep with the earplug from the handmade crystal radio
and I first heard,
“Stop in the Name of Love.” The hooks hooked me, the
mystery fascinated me and the music found nicks and crannies
within I never knew existed.

It is my Father’s love that keeps me coming home,
though the record collection is gone forever. When I stop

And let the music in, like a afternoon swim in the river,
within me, without me, the love of melody and rhythm
settle my anxious questions, and sometimes I still laugh
at which brother mother loved best.