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Description
The even tock, tock, tock, of the metronome,
Echoing in the empty concert hall.
Muffled against carpet and seat cushions.
I grasp the pegbox of my cello,
Wishing for the noise of the falling snow outside.

It’s muted in the parking lot, before anyone’s come.
Snow is drifting steadily down, sinking into the tarmac.
Can only dogs and hibernating crickets hear it?
The crystal clink, clink, chime of falling snow?
Only I hear the metronome, loud to my ear alone.

A bird shakes herself free of ice I cannot hear.
There is too much distance between us.
And so thinks my music teacher, seated in back:
Is that stupid girl not tuning yet?
The bird outside is too cold to sing.

The cello is heavy against my palms,
But the theater is pristine with new-fallen snow.
I cannot break it any more than the metronome or the bird.
My teacher glares with the power of my first guest’s headlights,
Slice, rumble, pollute, cutting through the snow.

My strings sing.

8/10/04

Description
The even tock, tock, tock, of the metronome,
Echoing in the empty concert hall.
Muffled against carpet and seat cushions.
I grasp the pegbox of my cello,
Wishing for the noise of the falling snow outside.

It’s muted in the parking lot, before anyone’s come.
Snow is drifting steadily down, sinking into the tarmac.
Can only dogs and hibernating crickets hear it?
The crystal clink, clink, chime of falling snow?
Only I hear the metronome, loud to my ear alone.

A bird shakes herself free of ice I cannot hear.
There is too much distance between us.
And so thinks my music teacher, seated in back:
Is that stupid girl not tuning yet?
The bird outside is too cold to sing.

The cello is heavy against my palms,
But the theater is pristine with new-fallen snow.
I cannot break it any more than the metronome or the bird.
My teacher glares with the power of my first guest’s headlights,
Slice, rumble, pollute, cutting through the snow.

My strings sing.

8/10/04