Ode to a Marimba

The blisters₁ between my third and fourth fingers may fade,

But my love for you will never heal

A callus is the price to hear your voice,

As we, the star crossed lovers, will never fully be joined together,

Flesh to wood

But I hear your heartbeat, resonating through burnt sienna bars,

Crying, screaming, begging to be free,

With each downstroke I shorten your life,

Your body will break; the blood pumping through my veins will ensure my survival

Your crown of thorns is my indulgence

But you want to be free

I give you that liberty

Without your voice, I cannot truly be happy.

By my indirect touch you can sing for my pleasure,

The music in my ears is music to my ears,

My own invention on the sienna bars;

My own story

_{1.        Playing with four mallets on a marimba often causes swelling, blisters, and callus between the third and fourth fingers where the third and fourth mallets are placed.}