MANIC

gentle falsetto

callused fingertips like wide plateaus
twanging strings,
heartstrings plucked.
your heart beating in the soundhole,
mine beating with the rhythm.

your eyes closed, mouth open
singing, not talking,
but we're still having a conversation
and you don't notice and i don't either
because i am young.

little darling,
dancing in the living room
with the blue of twilight around us
and our lamp light burning outside,
contained in that secret reflective world.

all the lonely people,
your rough hands dwarfing mine,
we danced and you sang along,
gentle falsetto.
and i am growing, learning.

we danced so much,
the deep blue night enfolding
our revelry.
when i think of being young,
i hear 'you know i love you.'

so many hockey games,
the tv blaring cheers and shouts
but the volume is always low
and you're sitting in your chair, not sleeping,
playing and singing softly, gentle falsetto.

i didn't like watching hockey
but i liked the way you played
when you weren't really practicing.
even if i could play like you (i can't),
i'd only hear what i miss about you.

sometimes i can almost hear it,
your gentle falsetto,
sometimes with the guitar
and sometimes singing along to a song.

i really had no choice, did i?
of course i'd fall in love with music.
i think it's in our blood.
when gavin and i were in the womb,
what did you and mom listen to?

i have one of those home video memories,
dreamlike and faded, unreality.
at a barn party, your band playing,
your hair all the way down your back
and grandma trying to get me to dance.

where'd my resistors pin go?
i didn't appreciate it when i was young,
but i'd love to flaunt it
on my backpack now,
if not to brag but to remember.

no gentle falsetto then,
full-chested singing, belting out.
your love for music
shining on your face like
the lights on the stage.

and of course, how could i not
mention the booya song?
i remember when you played it
at jenna's restaurant and i almost cried,
but crying to that song is familial.

what i love most
are your callused fingers,
years of music engraved in the tips,
and your gentle falsetto,
when you sang along or played absently.

i miss your gentle falsetto,
like saturday mornings
and weekday nights
and dancing to the beatles
and being young and loved and safe.