tuning by ear

The first guitar I learned to play in childhood

an old blonde Yamaha, cheap and chipped

that my brother said he sold for drug money

was returned to me the other morning.

I found it on the front porch propped

against the black wood railing, its

plastic case bent and wearing strips

of duct tape residue as if it had been

repackaged from user to user

with the latches scuffed to erosion.

He spotted it in an antique shop

my brother said in the letter inside.

After 20 years free of drugs and dreams

it returned to him with one glance

and he hated me he said, as he’d bought

it back, like my lectures had never left him.

And as I sat on the steps and lifted it free

I wondered the many places it had been

and if I could hear the kinder words from

my brother if I stroked its strings again.