Tonight's Poet Corner: You, Me, & the Symphony

You, Me, & the Symphony
by Belinda Roddie

We're dressed in our finest, our programs
tucked in the crooks of our satin arms. Hand
in hand, we take our seats to the right
of the conductor's podium. The cellists
are already scanning their sheets. One wipes
his brow with his bow beneath his knuckles.
His fingers noticeably tremble.

I've heard this symphony before. I was
eight when my mother took me to the
civic center in our hometown
to witness Beethoven's Fifth. Somewhere,
the deaf grizzled bastard was still
tinkering on a celestial piano, a second
ode to joy for his new audience.

You have never listened to Mozart, never
indulged in Holst or meddled in Mahler.
You prefer your music to sound like
firecrackers and breaking glass
instead of muddy rivers and listless
leaves. You give each note a name and
each instrument a secondary moniker.
A violin is a bard's first love. An oboe
is the captain of a ship built with reeds.

I glance down at the glossy pages,
and the names of the musicians blend
together into one bold blur. I want you
to create your world around these movements,
find new meaning in Bach and Debussy. You
are fiddling with your grandmother's pearl
necklace, but your eyes stay affixed to the
curve of the crescent stage. I wait for the applause.
I wait for you to listen to the rolling sea.