Alacrity

My hands run
along rugged black leather
sewn to my case.


I search without eyes
for the cold, circular and familiar
pieces of metal intertwined—
meant to keep it shut.


Pulling on hard aluminum tabs,
I lift my hands up,
freeing the scent of cane wood and dust,
letting it permeate my nose,
as my eyes lock
on the shining scratched up yellow
of my curved instrument.