Poetry
The Pianist
She’s fighting against keys kidnapping mood,
high, shrilly notes that over-thrill,
deep, clubbing bass tones that drag.
Her hands valiantly struggle to keep it all
somewhere in the middle where the songs are,
but they run away from her at odd moments.
She’s unaware her head’s sheet music. So’s her heart.
Both can overrule the playlist when the need arises.
She remembers. Ping! She regrets. Plunk!
People are calling out requests of course,
something to rein in their own high notes,
to soothe the battered low ones back to life.
They want to hear themselves in her hands,
a plump C chord, a sweet sharp,
a pulse rhythm working black into white,
trill into melody, vamp into spirit.
She’s wondering why nothing goes like rehearsal.
Unnatural highs, blackest depths…
well you wanted to play didn’t you.
Australian born poet, US resident since late seventies. Works as financial systems analyst. Recently published in Poem, Kestrel and Writer’s Bloc with work upcoming in Caveat Lector, Prism International and the Cider Press Review.
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