The long bowed wood left marks on the hardwood floor,
so we tried to keep the rocker on a rug.
It didn't work and every house would have these streaks
where our rocking had stripped wax off.
Memory is a hesitant thing,
a thing best left on shelves for rainy days.
What troubles me is remembering,
remembering August ninth-
nineteen ninety five.
A boundary day, a before and after day.
He wasn't just a guitar player missing the upper bird digits of his wing-ed finger.