Poetry by Anne Stackpole-Cuellar
My ears are nervous my shoulders tense I stand stalk still eyes closed, head bent wish the conversation would end hearing your voice flitting in and out shadows of sound only a representation of the person I've known. No melodious sound waves inform me of your mood, your love, your quest in life. My heart catches no auditory glimpse of you, just the straw staccato fade-outs, digital breakups interruptions, jagged noise. Your voice seems trapped inside a swirling bucket of flimsy discards rambling in a world where everyone walks galvanized to the same broken beat. Each phone call puts your words in disarray, every other one pinched away. Time can't be salvaged when it is torn down, crumpled up, and thrown around
The art of Anne Stackpole-Cuellar has been mainly in the realms of music. As a flutist, she has performed a variety of kinds of music both on stage and in recording. She worked for many years in the Boulder Public Library in Colorado, and after retiring has been enjoying writing. She currently lives with her husband in the Portland area in Oregon, and is writing a book on the art of music and playing flute. She says that artists of all kinds contribute new ideas and better understanding, creating fertile ground – compost – for further generations.