Self- conscious ache at fifty-two
Saggy in belly and chin
Swollen right foot
Furiously defiant in crowds
Laughing with people not even liked
6 of white
Even beer crowds become funny
“Rachmaninoff” she wants to say
“Elgar cello concerto, 2nd movement,
Jacqueline Du Prè?”
“Ever played F# chromatic scale, contrasting motion, 3 octaves?
That one was a bastard, hey?”
The farmer programs her body
Like a beginner piano book
“C C C C D D D D
C
D
C”
A washing machine manual
Button A, button B, turn knob
Spin
Washing done
Snore
Once he was a savior
A need, not a want
Now he’s an impasse snapping violin strings
His angry back
the fermata of Prokofiev
There’s a symphony
In her daughter’s eyes
All of Bach’s Preludes and Fugues
In the spine of her son
She waits at the STOP sign that is her life
She waits to break glass
Burn XXL
Scream into the night
“Debussy is not dead!”