Antonio de Torres Jurado (1817-1892), Spanish guitar maker
Torres’ secret was
soundboard, made
like a corset: cypress
struts that narrowed
at the waist. After
his wife was buried
in pine, he locked
all doors but
one—landing’s
lead-up to roof,
where cut spruce
aged from bone
to honey. Window
was frame for sea’s
dull sawing, while
his good ear kept
time in waves. At noon
he called the boy,
taught him to slit
the sanded neck,
to hold a needle
still enough for rosette’s
slow ticking. Herringbone,
he showed him, is hardest
on old hands, for
only a precise grip
of dark veneer
can lay down
this ring, sign
without sound.
Elizabeth Lindsey Rogers is an MFA candidate at Cornell University, where she teaches undergraduates and serves as an editor at Epoch. Born and raised in North Carolina, she is a graduate of Oberlin College and spent several years in rural China teaching English and dance at an agricultural school. Her poetry has appeared in Asheville Poetry Review, AGNI, Comstock Review, Chautauqua Literary Journal, StorySouth, Poetry Daily, and elsewhere. (updated 12/2010)