RESONATOR:

The Black guitar lived next to my bed, in the communal
family bedroom, resting it’s head against the wardrobe
that gave me nightmares & divided me from Mom & Dad.
Every morning as I slide out of bed the floorboards
would give a little, making the black guitar rub against
the wardrobe, acting like the body of a giant double
bass, the guitar strings gently resonating like an Aeolian
harp. Downstairs The music of Kitchen preparations would
be coming up the stairs underscored by BBC disc Jockeys,
but the sound of the gently resonating guitar was my
morning music.

(K)