Something simple for the strings

Today she sang that truly sad song
you sing when something sinks
inside the soft spot
of your stomach,

the soft spot that's sore
from unsleep,
salty suppers,
simple sadness.

She had sensed the signs surfacing
before they said hello, before
they settled in the room to stay
for sangria and a cigar,

before the sun set
west.


She started simply humming
the song she would later sing

soft, not sweet,
soft, not sullen
but sort of slow like
syrup from a saucer like,

the sound was so soft at first
it barely hissed past her lips.

She smiled and knew
all things must pass,

but as the sun set west
the song still swelled
up from her stomach
filled her lungs
past her lips,

until she was singing
that true song you can't
help but sing
when sadness
consumes
that
sunken
place

and there is nothing else
that can soothe the sorrow.