The Concert

Flickr Image by Sarah Dismukes

Bright light
plentiful mirrors
the long sweep of lace curtains.
Faces scattered
people.
She played a running melody.
Swollen fingers
worked
her wrists and hands
dizzily.
The room
seemed full of people;
stupid people who made her play.
She played
through trembling limbs
and burning eyes;
played and sung
hoping to discover the secret.
Nervous,
she laughed
and thrilled out
into the air –
the day before the tennis tournament.

Created from Pointed Roofs by Dorothy Miller Richardson from Wave Poetry