Scarborough Fair

My fingers pulse
as I brush my hair behind my ear
they are creased from pressing them into the strings of my guitar
I tried to play Scarborough Fair
while I sat with crossed legs
on the red flannel sheet covering my futon
but I only thought of the black sky
and how light breaks through
like a colander
and I thought of how at dusk by the lake
I can see a mirror image of the forest
and sometimes the light will look orange
and sapphire
I thought of how my skin smells like the sun
and the earth
and how there is no perfume that encircles me
and I thought of how the only good memory of my father
is when he sat crossed legged on his bed
and played his guitar and sang to me

your going to leave the prairie
to see the ocean and the fairies
bum
bum
bum
bum
ba ba
bum

I curled over my guitar inlaid with abalone
and pressed my fingers into the coil of the strings
and sang. . .

remember the one who used to live there
she once was a true love of mine