The Recital

First half of the recital

Twinkle twinkle Repeats

Varying levels of skill

From the scratchiest scratch

To the boldest tone

Composers names

In my mind and this scratchiest scratch

Of a performance dress

Tights constricting me in to

A gilded sausage

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In the meantime:

Terrified.

feel like hours passed

piano I’d practiced

Lost halfway through the song

A blank stare

A racing heart

A fast pace off the stage

Too much time spent

Learning the composers names

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Years pass

The names come easier

I stop less halfway through

And when I do

I pretend like it was on purpose

Rather than running away

I sit In my scratchy dress

I still hate tights

I wonder what it’s like to play

Twinkle twinkle with a bow

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Great grandfather

The traveling fiddle player

A gypsy in his time

Letters home to his daughter

In my hand

Music beautifully notated,

staves by hand

his violin, unstrung, fading velvet,

sits high

I wonder what it’s like

To make it sing

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More years

Holiday, light and laughter

A violin, strung and delicate velvet

Resin and bow

Set beneath deep blue satin

And I set about to play

Variations of

Twinkle twinkle

Until it no longer scratches

As much as an itchy recital dress

As I realize I am finally, at 30,

In the first half of the recital.

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