The Pianist
At the piano recital she
started tapping her fingers
on my shoulder. I thought
she was measuring the
bars until I noticed the
articulations, glancing at
her hand. For the rest of
the concert she continued
in time with the virtuoso
soloist: never missing a
note. Tears filling her
once hopeful eyes, thinking
of what could have been,
before he broke her finger
a few weeks after she was
accepted into the famous
music school in New York.
To stop her from leaving.
At the piano recital she
started tapping her fingers
on my shoulder. I thought
she was measuring the
bars until I noticed the
articulations, glancing at
her hand. For the rest of
the concert she continued
in time with the virtuoso
soloist: never missing a
note. Tears filling her
once hopeful eyes, thinking
of what could have been,
before he broke her finger
a few weeks after she was
accepted into the famous
music school in New York.
To stop her from leaving.
Brenton
Booth Lives in Sydney, Australia. Poetry of his has appeared, or is forthcoming
in New York Quarterly, Chiron Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Main Street Rag,
Naugatuck River Review, Van Gogh's Ear, and Nerve Cowboy. He has two full
length collections available from Epic Rites Press. brentonbooth.weebly.com
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