Cello
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You came into my life at the point in time
When I needed a teacher,
Someone to instruct me on fingering and bowing
Little did I know how much more you would bring.
You saw the talent no one else did,
The cello sings me to sleep
The saddest, most beautiful voice I've ever heard
Notes carefully composed into a tragedy that floats through the room with ease
It lulls me into oblivion
Mischa Maisky is plotting my demise,
his Solomonic locks mocking me,
raindrops on his suit coat.
Is that the Sistine Chapel I see?
My name is the syncopated beat
Of a dotted eighth note, sixteenth note
Rocking like a boat on windy waters
My laugh is the swoop of glissando
Sometimes a delicate slide
It takes baby steps,
I started out crawling at the ground
Wanting to be different, so
I walked into dozens of
Audition rooms to distinguish
My playing from others.
The low tones of my cello
Resonating through my own chest
The harmonic accompany of the orchestra
Sixteenth notes and eight notes
Whole notes and quarter
Half notes with dots
And rests in no order
He played me like a cello
soft and sweet
until the finale.
The high notes whined
and the low notes dragged on, on, on.
The finale
was agonizing.
It's my life, my passion, my one true love.
My soul, my escape, it's me.
I feel it in me, running through me, through my veins and in my blood.
It's music.
It's my cello.
