Molly McCormack

Coda

You won't see your name here,
won't read details about what
 
we shared. It wasn't you I loved,
just your hands. Your right hand
 
to be exact, and really just
the fingertips. The way you
 
held down fretted notes
vibrating strings, sent me
 
to Elysium. Soft pads teasing
tremolos, feather-strumming
 
adagissamo. I miss interpreted
improvisations dolente. I don't
 
remember your face fermata,
simply a single nocturne.


--
Molly McCormack is the Managing Editor of A NARROW FELLOW Journal of Poetry. Her poems have been published in several journals. She is also an accomplished blues and folk musician, performing and teaching both mountain and hammered dulcimer at numerous venues across the country.