H e a r t S o n s & H e a r t D a u g h t e r s of A l l e n G i n s b e r g

N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 4 : A r c h i v e s E d i t i o n

HOLLY JONES

The Organist and The Child

I was the child beneath the covers

as you summoned the walls to tremble

my fears to wake

towards morning’s dusk.

With blanket and awe

I’d rise from startled sleep

to your Cathedral room

of hardwood floors and silver pillars.

Your back turned

your fingers deliberate upon the keys

your shadow like a God

upon the console.

I’d sit upon the three descending stairs

my pink nightgown to my toes

my love and fear, Father,

the master of music and insomnia.

My silence kept my presence secret

your magic, the night loud

with all you never said to me

nor ever will again.