That first afternoon we sat facing
each other, guitars in our hands, waiting
for the other to hit the first lick into
something both of us knew or that the
other could drop into and ride like fire
across the tops of trees until the whole
forest breathed in and burned in time.

Measure for measure, in the manner of the
times, we jammed that song into places
we might never go alone and riffed off
phantom drummers and over a phantom
bottom shot electric in our solar plexus
tight with the rhythm deep in our muscles
primal as tribal beats tightly entwined.

I don’t recall how long we played or how
without even a glance our hittin’ the note
found its end but our fingers counted down
the notes two minds in time as one and in
a single precise moment we brought it
to a close hit those strings perfect
let ‘em chime.

Page 158


Authors:

Tom Gibbs

Tom Gibbs is a poet and independent scholar who has previously published in Clio’s Psyche. He may be reached at .

How to Cite This:

Gibbs, T. (2023). Two Guitars [poem]. Clio’s Psyche, 29(2), 158.

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