Steam Laundry

Will Packs His Fiddle and Sings

80 Will Packs His Fiddle and Sings —Dawson City, Yukon Territory, April 1903 Love like the bow loves the string, like the high whine of the fiddle muffled through the dance hall’s wall catches your ear on the street. Love like piano keys itch for touch while the empty arc of fingers whispers to the air over ivory. Love the way the notes love the emptiness the second before music rises, the way the banjo loves the voice with a bum ditty. Love the way that worn gold latch of the musician’s case snaps an end on an evening so late it has turned to morning. If that snap shut is the beginning, then let the fiddle be the last thing I pack. If departure is both opening and closing, then let it clatter just a little before the fiddle, longing in its red velvet bed, starts its wait. ...