Agoloso Presents - Atondido Stories Agoloso Presents - Mama Mada | Page 135

Mama Mada
runs. A sloppy amalgamation.
A mistake.
A cliff.
A hymn, a snare, and an exceeding sun.
Tuning Fork
by Ruby Ro binso n
Lifting the lid, you’d tell me:
once the fork is struck,
the initial blade of overtones
quieten to one note
composed of vibrations
undetectable by the human
eye, almost silent to the ear.
I always loved the bit
about the shattered tooth,
the thrill when you lifted
the steel close to my cheek
so that I could almost feel,
as you explained it, sound waves
from each prong of the fork
cancelling each other out.
I remember our voices, raised
against each other, amplified
by the walls of this house, recall
the function of the resonator,
as simple as a table top, to which
the handle of the fork is pressed,
or a hollow wooden box.
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