The smooth boards under my feet
Slide beneath my worn socks
As I run and slide,
Run and slide
Down that long hallway.
Gram in the living room,
Turning, dancing.
“Well that mockingbird is gonna sail away…”
I’m gonna sail away,
Away down that hall again.
She turns, I slide.
The record turns, the needle slides,
Pulling grooves in the vinyl,
Pulling grooves in the floorboards.
She is the needle,
I am the record.
She’s pulling grooves in me,
Making my music,
Shaping my record.
I miss the old house.