J.P. Christiansen

78.

 

I turn the handle to wind-up the old gramophone,

and point the horn into this present.

 

I place the 78. on the carousel,

and gently lower the needle to its groove.

 

A faded female voice sings of heart-break.

 

A small orchestra leads an easy dance

on a floor well-worn by shoes and high heels…

 

She looks into my eyes and smiles

as I take her in my arms across some sixty years

which come and go in two minutes and ten seconds.

 

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J P ChristiansenThe writer is Danish;
the poet is not.
The writer resides in the US;
the poet does not.

 

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