mozart touched tusks, how often did he think about trunks, thick brownish-gray skin, when alive they reached out to one another, comforted, said hello, intelligent creatures, emphasis on creatures, hunted by the hundreds of thousands, dead after gunshot, 4-bore rifles held by money, by music, status symbol, steinway, chickering, must have a baby grand, or an upright in church, pray for the dead animals, they are the keys that ring out, beethoven’s moonlight sonata, chopin’s nocturne in e-flat major, tchaikovsky’s nutcracker suite, you name it, such beauty, haunting beauty, listen closely enough & you can hear their demise.
Tag: Piano
George Winston: 1949-2023
when i heard that George Winston died, i realized i had no one to tell, no one who would really understand how he transformed piano notes into snow, into darkened pine trees, into music of the winter solstice. transcendent, like time immemorial, i can still see my seventeen year-old self, not making a sound, just listening to Winston, that quiet focus, he taught me to be still, appreciate all that is.
Mom Plays Evening Piano
she only played
mozart, on chickering
flat tusks, ebony
keys, her fingers
pressing sound into
air, while my
head on pillow
rested for sonata
slumber, this childhood
memory of time
gone by, as
if anything really
leaves this universe
empty spaces left
to be filled
again and again
Daniel W. Polk 