flashquake Poetry
Second Place

Years Later
by Laura Julier


Years Later by Laura Julier.

When I was seven,
I broke the E string on my new
half-size violin.
I closed the door to my room,
breathing fast,
and under the light bulb
examined closely
the silver wire,
the rich dark wood,
the pegs and the holes.
I thought I had broken the whole damn thing.
The next day when I told Mr. Anderson, he laughed.
"That always happens,
in the middle of a concert even,
to the greatest players —
it is nothing."

"Were you a virgin?"
he wanted to know
afterwards, drawing me to him, my face
under his chin, his voice worried
with sudden curiosity.
I laughed, and told him
little girls often break it,
and that I have never worried about it since.



Copyright 2002 by Laura Julier

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