For My Father by Eva Sher

Blue Harmonica

BLUE HARMONICA

For my father who suffered from muscular dystrophy

Toward the end, when your

fingers could grasp neither pen, nor shoelace,

button, spoon, or violin bow,

you took my hand.

From the pocket of your coat, you

pulled the blue harmonica.

I sat while you arranged your

difficult limbs into the chair.

Elbows on knees, hands awkward—

cupping that small box

of metal and grid,

you played.

You played yellow—

sunflower, marigold, calendula—

the finches at dawn.

You played green—

laughing meadow, trembling anemones,

the woods…

Our walks in the woods!

You played blue—

you played blue so deep,

I fell to the bottom of it, and then

you played me back up

to the places where angels sing.

When the end came

there was no more music. Only

troubled breath and the sharp sound of that

harmonica slap-slapping against your knee.

“It’s no use, Maidie…it’s no use…”

But it was, Vati! It was!

This poem was written in honor of a gentleman with Facioscapulohumeral Muscular Dystrophy, Eva's father.

I thank Eva for sharing this with us all.