Elegy

Amaranth, Golden Rod, and Stick Earthworks Exhibition Marie Miller

Elegy Rebecca Richard

Ironic how we’ve forgotten how the song goes. The lyrics tangled in my hair somewhere; the rhythm keeping my heart in motion when the poetry cannot. I was hoping that eventually the sentences would stumble back to me, and construct a new stanza. One without empty promises and cut corners; one that listens to the symphony and is kind. A song that knows the meaning behind its verses; every letter and every stroke knows its importance. I lost my art in the storm once, wandering the streets in the hurricane’s eye. Now I’m just waiting to set the words free, waiting for the band to return. I, as conductor; you, as conducted. Music was always the thing I loved most, and I was always the thing you loved least...