Thursday, June 6, 2013

Guest Post: Songbirds Fly Away


Songbirds fly away.
She reminded me of my piano-this girl.
Making her body all the easier to navigate,
Because I was familiar with her sounds
I knew how to touch her keys,we made-harmony .

I would slowly shift her chords-
Pushing down on her sustain petal, I listened as her body sang to me.
Her song was that of neurotic passions and soon- she changed keys
I followed,picking up my pace, sliding my notes  to keep up, I worried I would miss my timing, so I let the stain petal go,I focused,I read her sheet music, until I realized-- I played this piano before, I did not need the sheets, I listened to her body again,we continued in our - harmony.

Sweet songbird- this girl.

This is the first poem I wrote her. It is shitty, I know, but I was smitten by her. Her gaze, her voice, the sounds she made as she slept; I loved her. Anyways, before I get to mushy, and tell you my inevitable tragic end, I should introduce you to my song bird...

Her name is Sam, she is an Italian national, she was in my home town studying abroad. Now that you have been formally introduced, lets go back to the exposition of this song bird and I meeting. It was a very windy November day, I went with my mother to the grocery store (Thanksgiving was right around the corner) to make our final preparations. I was looking for peach marmalade. I stormed around the store in agitation looking for at least one competent worker, who could lead me to my destination. That's when I saw her.

The sun illuminated her golden skin, her jet black hair swung to the beat of the wind (probably the air conditioner but you get my point), and her blue eyes pulled me to her. I was literally in awe. I quickly shifted my glance as she walked passed me (although I am not sure if I remembered to close my mouth) and pretended to read some random labels.

I am not out in my hometown (at least not to my family, but a select few know). So, I was afraid to approach her. I nearly walked out of the store without saying a word when something took over me (my hormones). I found myself in mid sentence, "Hi, you are gorgeous and I was wondering, what is your favorite songbird?"

I couldn't believe myself. I was sure I'd messed up any chance I might have had with her, but then she said, "Cigno reale" (mute swan). I must have looked confused because then she said, "OK, so it is not a songbird, but I have always found that the rarity of one thing edifies its beauty."

I was caught hook, line, and sinker. You should know I forgot my real intent for visiting the store. I returned to my mother dazed and empty handed. Lets fast forward a bit...

After spending nearly everyday together for six months, Sam received a call one night while we were watching a silent film. Before she could get off the phone, I could feel the horror run through her body as she listened. I said a silent prayer. When she got off the phone I knew it was bad. She cried all night.

The next morning I discovered her mother was diagnosed with bronchioloalveolar carcinoma (lung cancer). I was stunned and saddened. Sam explained that her mother was not expected to live long so she must go back to Italy right away. My stomach hit the floor. In a weeks time, I dropped her off at the airport, and I watched as my songbird flew away.

Just to hit you quickly with all the tragic details at once: Sam's mother died two months later, and Sam told me she would not be returning to the states. She said she felt responsible for her mothers death, and if she were home they would have caught the cancer sooner. I didn't argue with her, but my world was shattered with her words. Fast toward through all the break-ups and hopelessness, and we are here today.

I learned that my songbird was wise beyond her years. When we first met she said, "The rarity of one thing edifies its beauty." I learned that the beautiful love we shared was rare, and just like the songbirds it comes and goes. So, I will continue playing her neurotic songs of passion in my nostalgia until the next songbird comes along.
Related Posts with Thumbnails