HOUR THREE –
Two Cellos Paint Pink Mary Pecaut
They lay upon the covers
resting on the final note
no encore needed
Crossover
Each plays their part
the way of trust
floating notes alight
on gut.
Three years or thirty five
each duet is precarious
Every new song longs
its’ home, a stradivarius.
Nice idea for a poem. The opening is strong, but the “gut” is a bit sharp. Maybe it’s “gut strings”? The last two lines are grammatically awkward, so the reader has to stop and puzzle out what is meant. The poem isn’t about longing, but the “new song longs” is puzzling. Did you mean “new song longs for”? If the longing for a better instrument, an unreachable goal of an instrument is the point, then perhaps you could infer that earlier as well. Also, the title and the poem seem detached. You don’t mention cello or pink in the poem. I think this poem has good potential!