Zither Lost By Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

The Spanish conquistador lived his life in postcards, terse and exposed to the world. Now cicada wings sprout from his ears, delicate, with many fine lines. He is grandly mustachioed and bearded. He is the cough drop Smith and the Studebaker Brothers rolled into one.

He has no arms. His hands extend directly from his body, all blown up like cow udders. His children want to pull on his fingers for milk. That’s why he wears yellow latex gloves at all times, even when he sleeps, which is nightly, even when he showers, which is rare. He is a member of my posse. In fact, he is my lieutenant.

They took my zither away from me when they got me in this bughouse. They said I was disturbing the other prisoners, but how could the celestial music that issues from my thin fingers disturb the already deeply disturbed?

I would have cured them with music, though I could never cure myself. That is often the way of the world: Jesus died for our sins.

© 2014 Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois’ poems and fictions have appeared in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He has been nominated several times for the Pushcart Prize. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition. He lives in Denver.

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