Cool Joy/the heirloom

In Memory of my Pap-Pap Hartmann. I love you.

I’ve been the Cool’s granddaughter
Of the small streets in Steel factories.
But in our separate too fun–to-bid peace,
He gave my mother the guitar when
She was young like plastic caught in the wind
The way it dances free, like her eyes did
As she strummed it down the center
Sounding like infinity entered
Her hands like the dusting of sands

(Her guitar’s strings are made of black and gold
Spaghetti, carp, telephone dial
Her guitar’s notes are made of sloppy-joe smile
Her guitar’s made of Cool)

Across the summers of longing, until
She gave her daughter the guitar when
She was young like marigolds dashing
To meet the roots of trees on either side
Only to see the guitar is a whole other flower
She plucks the guitar up like a dandelion

(Her guitar’s strings are made of goose feathers
Fire ants, tequila, doorbells
Her guitar’s notes are made of carousels
Her guitar’s made of Cool)

And blows on these seeds like rockets, spiraling to the stars
Above me joyfully,
Before me joyfully,
Around me joyfully,
The guitar spent away from the smog clouds and,
Always spreading Cool’s joy.

Reviews

[Sara Henry Heistand]

From a personal stand point, I can honestly tell you and with no convictions that my eyes are stinging right now. I think the best sort of reflective poems are the ones that make you want to cry, but you can't, because you know that it's really okay. Poems that make you cry just leave you without a shred of hope (or they're just a guiltily pleasing, remain-in-your-closet tear jerker - say, like the end of a depressing, overtly cheesy chick flick).

I...really think this is perfect the way it is. Maybe I have a bias and I know who and what this is about, but...I can't imagine this any better than it is. The parentheses really add a styling to this - like the back vocals to a song. Or bass to the guitar. It has a rhythm all its own and it is very deeply felt. I adore you for this poem.

I'm glad you added memories into the parenthesed stanzas, as well. It makes the rhythm so fantastic... This is so hard to explain, I'm sorry. I'm just so overcome!

Please don't change it. I can't find a single damn thing wrong, really.

This is what should've been laid to rest with him. Not my rambling, mournful wreck.

God, Allie... I miss him so much. :(