Because We Had No Maple Tree · Laurel Miram

My father gifts
This cello
Lost to frenzy
He asks if I still intend to air it
And each time we both
At the waste
Wasting what is lovely

I am little before this
In all his visions I’m bequeathed
I only reach
Another day’s shadow
Our cello waits
An organ
A bridge trussed for tapping
I will play the sap
I will thrum its bleed

Did you know
A cello’s voice is nearest the human,
I say
And he, Of course
I knew
I couldn’t show you all the things
I didn’t know

I gave you music
So you might know sound hands

Laurel Miram is a Detroit-born poet, short prose writer, and educator. Her prizewinning short fiction is featured in So to Speak Journal’s 2019 contest issue.