A Dank Seattle Sunday, Winter by Janée J. Baugher
The roommates are gone. The girlfriend’s been here since Friday. Lulled by sullen chords of a five-string electric, she can’t see how the slide on his left hand covers the ring finger. While he plays toward the fire (away from her, just working the riffs), she writes. The page and guitar in private contrapositions. Alone, the artists ask their handheld things to sing. Amid red walls with white trim, and beside the fire (done with its kindling and on to its logs), the snare drum, moved by guitar’s tremble, gently rattles. When the guitar quits, the drum quiets. Still, the girl’s hand, in a serpentine fashion, is silently inking the page.
‘She was good enough for her own music’, Tricia Louvar