A Way of Seeing
by Nancy Christopherson
in starlight that reminds me of you so far away.
*
There’s nothing in here worth anything
the guy at the music shop replies while thumbing
through the LPs I brought in
rather than throw away.
I fall for it, foolishly. Some were irreplaceable.
*
Once,
you had a life—there was a life in there once.
Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.
The only things that mattered—
your school, the apartment,
autumn leaves, enough light—you still alive.
*
That peculiar sound—the sweet scratching rendered.
Not your voice, but like it. Every straw star burning.
