First Place Winner, July 2005 InterBoard Poetry Competition

Poetry

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Poetry

InterBoard Poetry Competition

First Place Winner, July 2005

THE MANDOLIN
Laurie Byro
(The Melic Review RoundTable)

I tried to tell you about the barbed wire man
and how as a kid I was frightened of that starved
hound of his, the snarl and bite of wire round
the shack that he called home. You never listen
when I am like this. You invent ways to compare me
to a mandolin, your callused fingertips wanting to strum,
to pluck my body like a string. I shake you off.

The wire of my body is being stripped from the inside
out. The lining of my spine heaves with nerves
that are taut and frayed. I tell you I am afraid.
You never believe me. Instead, your nails move back
and forth across the frets of my wrist. You play
chords on my arm, croon “Don’t be afraid, hush.”

You sink into me on your couch and run me through
the lush green forests of childhood. You rehearse
me on your guitar, eyes half-closed against the bright
summer moon. I study your arms as you play,
mesmerized by the clawed fingers, the rusty
glint of hair. There is a river we cross and we pull one
another along through a crooked wire fence.
We arrive skin on skin and only slightly torn.
The wire man sleeps. We replace him with this.

Judge Aaron Welborn’s comments: “Occasionally you come across a poem that disturbs you in some inarticulate, private way, because it seems to have sprung from some inarticulate, private source. With its dreamlike imagery and hint of menace, ‘The Mandolin’ strikes that chord with me. The barbed-wire man and his dog establish a sinister element early on, a fear which slowly gets transmuted into fear of another sort--the trepidation of intimacy. The ending is richly ambiguous. What is ‘this’ which replaces the nightmare of the barbed-wire man? Intimacy achieved? The physical act of love? The poem? Or something more sinister still? Like a disturbing dream, this poem rewards revisiting over and over.”