It’s the Banjo

strum da da da clum da clumda strum trum 

It’s the banjo.

It’s uneasy music fills the living room,

dining room, and into the kitchen where 

I write.  It’s loud.  In your face loud.

Strumming and plucking swirl around my head

Over and over the twanging and thwanging

resemble a song, a song, 

I cannot recognize.

 Here it comes again. 


Now it’s quiet.

G,  A, some chords tentatively named.

Can I play down here with you?

It’s warmer and I won’t get so lonely.

bung, bung,    bung, bung   thwung, thwung

The finger picks look mostly like claws

are new.

It takes lots of practice to get used to playing with picks.

Strumming and plucking swirl around my head.

That’s a A, B, no a D, I hear from the next room.

I think I recognize an Avett Brother’s song now.

Hey!  Sure enough.  She’s got it.

I remember the singing long ago coming from her crib

each morning.  

We’d lay there and smile not wanting it to stop.

It’s quiet.  She walks in humming.

Want to try them on your fingers mom?

I never want it to stop.




About kdoele

I am a teacher who continues to learn from students kindergarten through seventh grade. Currently teaching seventh grade English and Reading/Writing Workshop, I am exploring what it is like to "begin" again... my one little word for 2017.
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One Response to It’s the Banjo

  1. I loved that you linked it back to her crib….that musician started early, didn’t she. My son and his music gave me so much joy through the years. Sometimes I feel like I can hear him all the way from Denver. xo PS I love how she included you at the end.

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