It is inanimate, a piece of wood
Fashioned, glued, with strings
Tightly strung from scroll
To tail-gut. It is taut, stable
In tension, vibrant, nervous
But still, until I take it in my hands
And give it life. It takes
My soul and is more truly me
Than voice, or laugh, or kiss,
Or even knees bent in prayer.
2024 Jacqueline Jackson