for Patti Boyd
Hollow body, solid body, Archtop, Strat, or Flying V,
my shape’s a pitted avocado; a frying egg, yolk broken;
or nearly any Braque; my dark sounds utter hyperbole,
as in Eric’s bottleneck falsetto to his Layla—formerly
George’s something all too much—her gold ringlets
bloating Slowhand’s bell-bottom jeans with Blues.
Plenty other muses teased voltage from my pickups,
but the duende she awoke could play, until who knew
whether I fed back through her or she through me?
From Departures from Rilke (Arrowsmith Press, 2023) by Steven Cramer. Copyright © 2023 by Steven Cramer. Used with the permission of the author and publisher.