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squeezing time
the box, weighty, mahogany, fine grained
now water stained and weary, dust caked and filthy.
when salvaged, found foundering
on the reef of mouse gnawed music
forlorn and storm tossed,
in a seascape of new mineral wool
fumbling the selections of rusting keys, fitting and finding,
plush lining, velvet bag, opulent, rich, deep red
not fragile and tearing, robust, still hard wearing
and evocative, the hardwood and leather smells,
the mahogany has done its job
inside, hexagonal, a seaman's concertina
polished rosewood, gleaming brass,
bone buttons and buffalo horn
bellows, black leather, dry, intact
all carrying the waxy patinas of care
"he had two, your uncle, this one was the best
It cost him an arm and a leg, he said, on a collier off Hamburg,
it was too good for the submarine
and he couldn't keep anything dry, but I didn't know he'd left it here,
the last time I saw it,
the last time he played, was new year 39."
