(by Daniel R. Jones)
[Note: this poem was originally printed in Bethel University’s literary journal, “Crossings,” in their Spring 2013 issue. It was the poem chosen for the “Excellence in Creative Writing-Poetry” award.]
The record spun, and the needle sung,
And tonight, he’s singing Sinatra.
And as the scraped LP
spinning 33,
was rung through the lungs
and the piano keys.
Candles are lit,
as we sit, just you and me.
The needle grinds in 4:4 time,
the song is sweet, and you are mine.
Dance to silence, kiss to songs;
we heard the words and sung along.
The song then over, crescendo passed,
the needle lifted up at last.
You stayed, and with your fingers traced
the laugh lines cast across my face.
And the touch and brush of your own hand
composed more poems than mine ever can.
Up from my heart arises a song,
that bids you come and sing along.
Bez&Co 