Christopher Salerno

Grandpa Humming

Slowly, that summer

We woke to old notes

Bent a half step up

The way wood warps

Porch boards,


C to C# from the dew,

Bowing the neck

And trellis,

Playing curve down your back.


The phantom limb

One only feels

When humming early pieces,

Shows itself:

A foot. Wooden.

With ordinary pitch,

Carved clean from mahogany.