Music Appreciation
Posted: Mon May 06, 2019 1:05 pm
~
Music Appreciation
My head melted to a cafeteria table top
with the rest of my second grade class.
A few sneaking peeks and giggles.
A roving teacher to keep us quiet, in rows,
repeated the direction -–
close your eyes and imagine what you hear
– imagine what you will! –
she played scratched vinyl Rachmaninov,
Rimsky-Korsokov . . . Chopin.
Antsy, sweating, trapped.
I imagined with all my might the immovable hands
on the large black wall clock
thaw, move,
crawl toward my burst down the hall,
to explode out green, plate-windowed double doors
into real air, and it didn’t matter
whether it was dark and blustery or sticky hot and still.
Even today when I hear
the dancing strings of Scheherazade
I imagine my forehead down on a table
in a yellow painted room
filled with expectancy
in a basement of stale air.
~
Music Appreciation
My head melted to a cafeteria table top
with the rest of my second grade class.
A few sneaking peeks and giggles.
A roving teacher to keep us quiet, in rows,
repeated the direction -–
close your eyes and imagine what you hear
– imagine what you will! –
she played scratched vinyl Rachmaninov,
Rimsky-Korsokov . . . Chopin.
Antsy, sweating, trapped.
I imagined with all my might the immovable hands
on the large black wall clock
thaw, move,
crawl toward my burst down the hall,
to explode out green, plate-windowed double doors
into real air, and it didn’t matter
whether it was dark and blustery or sticky hot and still.
Even today when I hear
the dancing strings of Scheherazade
I imagine my forehead down on a table
in a yellow painted room
filled with expectancy
in a basement of stale air.
~