I was brought up and still live in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia so I rely on imagery derived from the natural landscape to explore human relationships. My wife, Elizabeth, and I have two daughters and three grandchildren. I have been an architectural woodcarver for over 35 years and have written numerous articles and three books on the subject. My poetry has appeared in Shenandoah, Green Mountains Review, The Lyric, The South Carolina Review, Southern Poetry Review, and others.
Daddy took it down from the closet shelf
as if it had always been there.
We sat on the quilt-colored bed to open
the mysterious case with a dusting care.
Assembled tubes, tightened, licked his lips—
keys clicked as his mind fingered,
then puckered red, he blew a single vowel,
the wallpaper peeled, the news of it lingered.
He did not look at me. His fingers fluttered
another surprise, another surprise.
A goldfinch called from the window’s tree—
he didn’t explain, excuse, or advise.
He pulled apart the silver and black,
shut the secrets in their box and put it back.
©2016 Frederick Wilbur