o'connell with her fiddle

o'connell with her fiddle.

o'connell in her room with viol da gambas, cellos, basses, violins, and lira di bracci attached to the wall. she is sawing away into the midnight while the red and amber leaves drop in the moonlight. they say the men have predicted snowfall, but o'connell with her fiddle is playing into the dark hours where the stars are concealed.

my pet fish bubbles, in his bowl, dances a circular dance to the vibrations that arise through the water with the sound. o'connell with her fiddle, and braces, is making the dead beneath their burial mounds quiver. o'connell is tapping time on the unpolished hardwood floor where thousands of her footsteps have worn the boards beneath her navy blue socks.

o'connell with her fiddle while kettles whistle out "hot water!" and steam warps the wall paper beside the stove. o'connell with her fiddle is making circles of sound.