by Peter Stiles

These melodic lines have a cutting edge.
They cut through years and wing me to a town
where a man gathers gentleness at a piano.
He is a refugee from the gory refuse
of a day at the local meatworks.
Leaving his sharpened knife behind,
in a metal locker, in a bare, cold room,
he scrubs his hands, brylcreems his hair
and returns to town,
to an ever-comfortable living room.
Now his crotchets and quavers
cut to the bone,
with unspeakable love in this
New England town.

Dr. Peter Stiles is a widely published Australian poet and professor at a Christian college in Sydney.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy

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