PHONE SAX
Debussy called it that
aquatic instrument.
Here on the very edge
of a continent, the Pacific
pulls down the sun, and
I hear one reed singing.
Brass keys walk the curve
like a wave, and the moaning
makes me want to come
to you, blow across the
states to find those notes
spilling from your horn.
So sue me. What do I know?
Just that a wild riff came
spiraling through the cord
of my green phone,
and for a moment I heard
the Atlantic scale of you.
–Christine Hemp (originally appeared in The Maine Times)
Image: Claes Oldenburg “Soft Sax” (detail) 1992 Lithograph
About Christine Hemp
Poet and writer Christine Hemp has aired her poems and essays on NPR’s Morning Edition; she has sent a poem of hers into space on a NASA mission to monitor the birth of stars; and her essays have appeared in such publications as the Iowa Review, Yale Anglers Journal, and the Boston Globe. Her awards include Harvard Extension School’s Conway Award for Teaching Writing, a Washington State Artist Trust Fellowship for Literature, and an Iowa Review Award. Her poetry collection, That Fall, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2011. Hemp teaches at the University of Iowa Summer Writing Festival.