A girl in Tennessee hears
her uncle fiddle
through his nights. Jigs
and reels riff
in her ears and stick.
The uncle gifts her a mandolin.
She fingers the neck,
takes the open fifths
into the choir of her heart.
She learns the strings, first
strumming and plucking
then brushing and picking.
They vibrate, then ring,
sing back to the campfires
in Romania, back to suppers
of lamb and mint, back
to the baby dozing
as her father unwraps
a cobza and casts out
a tune for the rising moon.