The Concert

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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.

Copyright © January 2013 Norma Martiri

Created from Pointed Roofs by Dorothy Miller Richardson

The Concert