deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Piano Lesson
arriving early for pick-up
a rare moment
not normally allowed;
pudgy hands
with still-dimpled knuckles
struggling to find the cadence
his instructor insists upon
eager to please, fully engaged
he cautiously begins
smoothly please, little one
she admonishes gently,
we don’t chop the keys
into fragments;
we find the connection,
feel the flow of vibration
from this note to the next
beneath our palms;
he hesitates, brows furrowed
as her elegant, practiced fingers
show him the way it’s done
my grandma’s broad, thin hands
strumming her old acoustic,
roll with bittersweet abandon
in a whisper across my mind,
my eyes on his long, inherited fingers
hovering just above the ivories,
the only heirloom
my family had left to bestow
his Cupid’s bow lip,
twisted between grown up teeth
still making their way
through the gums,
in unreserved determination
that belongs to him alone;
the mind of the fearless explorer,
completely unaware
that failure is an option -
so why do I feel so anxious
on his behalf?
generations of musical talent
makes for a heavy mantle -
is it possible to experience
simply the joy of creating
without the stifling air
of expectation?
If it is, I’ll wrap it all up
and lay it at his feet
just to watch the fire dance
across his countenance;
as heavy lids close on their own
to feel, rather than see
his gift slowly unwrapped,
I am desperate to give him mine,
the unencumbered prize
of doing for the sake of it alone
his tender, round face
etched with a firm resolve
many years beyond him,
he begins once again;
a few shortened strokes
before he finds the stream
where the individual notes
become cohesive sound -
he makes music at last
and my heart swells for him
all over again, as I know it will
so many more times,
for the rest of my days
knowing sparks within
those deep brown eyes,
reminding me of my own,
and so much of his brothers;
he presses his lips together
to keep his boyish grin
from erupting ear to ear,
his happiness a bright blue aura,
the cloudless summer sky
outdone
a rare moment
not normally allowed;
pudgy hands
with still-dimpled knuckles
struggling to find the cadence
his instructor insists upon
eager to please, fully engaged
he cautiously begins
smoothly please, little one
she admonishes gently,
we don’t chop the keys
into fragments;
we find the connection,
feel the flow of vibration
from this note to the next
beneath our palms;
he hesitates, brows furrowed
as her elegant, practiced fingers
show him the way it’s done
my grandma’s broad, thin hands
strumming her old acoustic,
roll with bittersweet abandon
in a whisper across my mind,
my eyes on his long, inherited fingers
hovering just above the ivories,
the only heirloom
my family had left to bestow
his Cupid’s bow lip,
twisted between grown up teeth
still making their way
through the gums,
in unreserved determination
that belongs to him alone;
the mind of the fearless explorer,
completely unaware
that failure is an option -
so why do I feel so anxious
on his behalf?
generations of musical talent
makes for a heavy mantle -
is it possible to experience
simply the joy of creating
without the stifling air
of expectation?
If it is, I’ll wrap it all up
and lay it at his feet
just to watch the fire dance
across his countenance;
as heavy lids close on their own
to feel, rather than see
his gift slowly unwrapped,
I am desperate to give him mine,
the unencumbered prize
of doing for the sake of it alone
his tender, round face
etched with a firm resolve
many years beyond him,
he begins once again;
a few shortened strokes
before he finds the stream
where the individual notes
become cohesive sound -
he makes music at last
and my heart swells for him
all over again, as I know it will
so many more times,
for the rest of my days
knowing sparks within
those deep brown eyes,
reminding me of my own,
and so much of his brothers;
he presses his lips together
to keep his boyish grin
from erupting ear to ear,
his happiness a bright blue aura,
the cloudless summer sky
outdone
Published 1st Mar 2020
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likes 7
reading list entries 3
comments 14
reads 315
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The author encourages honest critique.
1st Mar 2020 9:04pm
Reminds me of my son and daughter taking music lessons right down to the pride I felt as they progressed.
Enjoyed this piece.
Enjoyed this piece.
1st Mar 2020 9:15pm
1st Mar 2020 9:10pm
Just wow at that ending. What an amazing ending!
his happiness a bright blue aura,
the cloudless summer sky
outdone
This gave me chills it was so beautiful. As to the rest, a mother's pride is a deep canyon that can never be fully filled, because there will always be room for more.
Well done, Luna.
his happiness a bright blue aura,
the cloudless summer sky
outdone
This gave me chills it was so beautiful. As to the rest, a mother's pride is a deep canyon that can never be fully filled, because there will always be room for more.
Well done, Luna.
1st Mar 2020 9:18pm
Thank you, Ahavati! I am so thankful I was able to witness this moment, it was a beautiful thing to see him finally get the piece down and to be privy to the sense of accomplishment he felt.
1st Mar 2020 9:24pm
A forever precious moment! Wow. Great tribute to a budding inspiration. 👏👍✌️💖
1st Mar 2020 9:28pm
2nd Mar 2020 5:48am
There is a lot to admire in this piece. It's flow, it's enjambents, so fluid and precise. The metaphors with which you describe the music, the instrument, and it's playing, the connection to family legacy, the emotions moving, just beneath the surface. Beautifully played, lady.
2nd Mar 2020 2:44pm
2nd Mar 2020 3:17pm
You have beautifully expressed the delight of experiencing your child’s accomplishment. What a lovely piece.
2nd Mar 2020 3:34pm
2nd Mar 2020 7:20pm
2nd Mar 2020 7:54pm
3rd Mar 2020 5:08am
Dear L,
The sweetness in this write is beautiful. I love the references you make to the hands of the teacher, your son, your grandmother. Each with their own description that images greatly the touch they have when playing the piano. You can hear the lesson being taught. Absolutely spectacular memory and recreation to poem. Lovely and tender a moment to treasure. Loved it! H🌷
The sweetness in this write is beautiful. I love the references you make to the hands of the teacher, your son, your grandmother. Each with their own description that images greatly the touch they have when playing the piano. You can hear the lesson being taught. Absolutely spectacular memory and recreation to poem. Lovely and tender a moment to treasure. Loved it! H🌷
3rd Mar 2020 5:20am
