Singer's High Poem by gina prettybrowneyes

the end is near.
(you can feel it from the tips of your toes to the hairs on your head)
the music quickening, the chords falling into place, the
intensity building higher and higher
(ain’t a-that good news, ain’t a-that good news, ain’t a-that good news)

you see nothing but the director’s hand, shaping the sound waves
cutting off notes and connecting phrases
there is no life nor death
there nothing but this song

the voices slow (higher and higher-up the scale we go)
then all at once it is here and the final note
breaks free from your throat
(a-ain’t a-that good news lawd!)
so loud your ears ring and buzz as the decibals climb
your lungs workins so hard to sustain such a note,
your head going light from lack of oxygen
eyes never straying from her hand
the music concludes
(my lawd, a-ain’t a-that good news! ! ! ! !)
and just when it seems you can give no more—

(a single hand motion)
/OFF/
the notes echo for a split-second, then—
it is over.

your breathing coming in great gasps, you watch the director’s face
for that look in her eyes, that one look from a director to a singer -
it can only be described as pure magic
you can’t help but smile in relief
an overwhelming surge of pride, of power, of purpose
rushes over you




the world has come back into focus
the audience clapping and shouting
your sweaty hands and aching feet register in your music-mad mind
your heart thumps in your ears

this is what you live for
this is what you would die for
and this is why you sing

a nod from the almighty director provides the new pitches
a new chord is being laid out, a new melody is about to be born
she turns to face you once again
her hand comes up
you breathe deeply, open your mouth, and—
(a single hand motion)


/SING/