The Guitar and the Strings (If I could be Billie Collins)

You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon


You are the guitar and the strings,
the sugar in the bottom of the coffee cup.
You are a westward wind one Tennessee spring
and a barefoot walk under sun dappled magnolias.
You are the salt in my pasta water,
and the brown pants and smart shoes I spy in the shopkeepers window.

However, you are not summer flowers,
the peaches in my painted bowl,
or the slips of paper scattered about my desk.
And certainly not the tapping of keys as a write this
and there is just no way
that you are the rosemary planted outside my kitchen door.

It is possible that you could be a field of sunflowers,
or even that noisy vespa zooming down via urbana,
but you will never be
the bubbling laughter I hear on my evening strolls.

And a quick look through my wardrobe will show
that you are neither the sweaters stacked one by one nor the empty suitcase begging to be taken somewhere.

And you might be happy to learn, speaking in metaphors
that I am sometimes that little smile on your lips
that tastes like apricot honey.

I also happen to be the little bird you feed breadcrumbs to, the one brazen enough to take the crust of bread right from your fingertips,
or the ringing telephone and the clatter of keys
sometimes even, the sip of amber whisky splashed wet inside your glass.

I am also the thorny rose in your garden,
and the new song you listen to on the radio.
But don't worry, I'm not the guitar and the strings.
You are still the guitar and the strings.
You will always be the guitar and the strings,
not to mention the sugar in the bottom of my coffee cup.