Marshall Gass

The Piano Tutor......

Nimble fingered she scaled high mountains
teary eyed swam in delicate balances of mozart
saint saens, beethoven, schubert, unmindful
that i watched in awe and grace at her aquiline features
melting in those crescendos of throbbing chords
and intricate switches between registers of scales.

i struggled to keep the pace, tame the tempo,
feel the texture and tone, sing in my heart
that which felt pure crystalline diamonds
sparkling at an evenings lesson. I went faithfully
every two days just to watch and wonder
at the magic she spun with her fingers.

No orchestra ever came close to this feeling
no symphony ever beat its pulse in my passion
as this piano tutor did.

Did she play alone for me,
for somebody else
or held a conversation with the masters
while I watched as a witness?

The only time she ever played chopin,
and the minute waltz
the tears rolled down freely
from both our cheeks.

'thank you, sir, for listening'
she said smiling
' you alone made an audience
of a hundred and fifty'

Submitted: Thursday, July 31, 2014
Edited: Friday, August 01, 2014

Topic of this poem: metaphor

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Author Notes

She was beautiful.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved,10 days ago

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