The accordian

I am no great lover of the accordian.

 

If you forced me to sum up my feelings about the thing

into just one word

I’d probably settle

on “dorky”

 

I was therefore surprised

to find that the thing

is actually quite a symbol

of Life Itself.

 

Have you ever noticed

how isolated elements of life can feel so familiar

when taken one by one?

Yet somehow

thrown together, taken as a whole.

They just feel so strange.

 

I am not surprised by the existence of war

or my daughter’s sweet kisses.

I am not surprised by the smell of patchoulli

or the flavour of success…

Until I think about the fact

that they all inhabit the world together.

 

And the humble accordion.

A Frankenstien’s monster of a thing.

A keyboard torn from a piano and turned on its side.

thrown onto a bellows of a  blacksmith.

and some buttons thrown on the other side for good measure

wielded by the sort-of kid

they put a “kick-me” sign on the back of

in movies set in the 1950’s.

Who would concoct such a thing?

 

The notes themselves

if you just listened to one or two

these would be in explicable

except for the clear assertion that they are not music.

 

If you chose a moment, two moments

out of my life.

They, too, would be inexplicable

except for the fact that they are not music.

 

When you string those notes together, though

well sometimes

sometimes it is still not music.

But other times?

other times, it is.

 

There are times that the accordion is stretched out so wide

that I think it is has expanded to fill up the size of the world.

And there are times at that is compressed so small

I wonder if it would fit in the back pocket

of somebody’s lederhosen.