The Old Royal

You are too long underground
for me to resurrect.
All I can do now is reach out
and touch things
we both touched.

Like the typewriter --
a Royal Quiet De Luxe
with gray case, white keys,
the same model machine
through which we struck
our souls onto paper
twenty five years ago.

I couldn't help but buy it.

When that tuned, oiled
hulk arrived at the door,
I set it down and played
my wet dirge of remembrance
on the keys.

I heard you, teaching me
between the furious
hammer strikes
and felt your hand
fling back the carriage
when the bell rang.

I popped open the top,
round and shiny smooth,
with the hope
of finding you inside.

Scott Speck
08/15/2002