Playing the ukulele
for the first time leaves
you with fingers numb
as a child’s blue
ones after playing
in the blizzard, as
Mom’s after scraping
ice from the windshield,
as bones grown raw.
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Playing the ukulele
for the first time leaves
you with fingers numb
as a child’s blue
ones after playing
in the blizzard, as
Mom’s after scraping
ice from the windshield,
as bones grown raw.
I was surprised by all the sounds and sensations that emerged in this poem: plucked ukulele strings, blue fingers — frosted fingers, the sound of scraping, resistant ice, and rawness. The ukulele takes me to summer (whether true or not) so becomes more pronounced against the cold of winter. For me, this is a vivid, strong poem. I’ll return to this many times as I consider ways to write more succinctly with greater power.