Chord Box: Poems

Juke: 1973

Juke: 1973 Grapes cluster like blues chords along the wire fence. Your brother cuts a dry vine down, wraps it tight for smoking.At nine, you’re always King: outrunning all boys from main street to the mines, rattling off psalms, and you know how to riff on whatever noise your mom can find: harmonica, piano, church-camp’s guitar. On your trumpet, bell full as Loretta’s big skirt, you pucker for a gold nipple, make a sound like your body, but bigger. In this valley, dim as a nightclub, you raise your chin for your brother 5 to light the vine. Grapes glaze over, reflect the lit-up end. Not ripe.You know not to eat— but cool, your mouth-smoke lifting—your fingers twitch.You reach. 6 ...