I bought a new guitar today. well, not really new: an old Gibson J-45, rich and deep on the low E and A strings, with round shoulders, a wine-red finish and tortoise teardrop pick guard.
she was standing in a city pawn shop, beautifully abandoned. she came with an exile’s suitcase and a belly filled with songs.
music lives eternally in old instruments. if you really want to write a song, and you have no ideas for one and can’t go thinking or don’t want to, go to a pawn shop and ask a guitar. buy a used one, because there’s music lost inside.
listen to her. she will tell you about places she’s known, the wrong turns she’s made and who she’s seen. she will tell you about the café chairs she’s rested on, and baggage carousels she’s ridden, her wild ways, and how one night in a downtown club she may have found grace.
tune her up and tell her to find you a B minor, A major song. maybe the next day suddenly you’ll have something.
I love my new friend. someday when we’re out somewhere together I hope people will turn to see where the beautiful notes are coming from, and maybe feel some kind of ancient spirit spoke to them, as from an eternal tree.
cookie nieves 
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