Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

My Father-in-Law’s Clarinet

The eyes, sprightly blues caught under lids for his special friend, ebony wood with polished face crafting sound through thin lips, with the wail of a passing train telling legends in a distinct voice. In my inner ear’s recall, not a treacly tone but silken, long, soothing balm, dense as the jungles of days spiraling with the grace of a ballerina, spinning notes, waltzing in air, exuding a tidal wave of solace.

And now, I am shadow chasing, wishing him near, once again, as the memory blends the smoke of his cigarette, wasting away at ashtray’s side, and his intricate music drawing nostalgic patterns of elegiac tears.

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Prompt: a musical instrument