‘Cello

'Cello

Ramón C. Sunico

You would not think

the way he carries it in

that he carries a thing:

the way he favors

his left hand (which touches

its strings) as if it were a wing

that touched God; the way

his knees cling to its sides

as if it were love. It is

his cross, to love

a mermaid whose hair

can sing, his cross

to bear, a wooden box,

half hourglass, half

hollowness restraining

resonant air, to know

what is not woman, not thing

but voice,

and, with the audience

mute as landscapes,

to let it scream.

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