Regarding The Clarinet
by Michael Keshigian

Having gathered power and capacity
through years of practice and work
to induce a resonance worthy of attention,
keeping fingers nimble,
cascading between silver moguls
planted upon grenedilla grain
in a perfect cylindrical contour,
tuned and dripping with wetted breath,
I play away, constantly
navigating dotted notes and multiple flags
behind an expressive face,
the way a long happiness melds cheeks upwards,
inducing a squint.
No lack of endurance compromises
the integrity to sustain the passion
which exudes from the parchment
upon the stand,
that stream of sound,
dissecting thin air in the room
with compounding ripples
until walls tremble
to the timbre of song
and slowly a brilliant varnish
builds upon the dull papered walls
and a new voice, like others
hidden in the world,
finds a home to sing or dance
or meditate in any place,
anytime I play.
Behind this face, in this mind,
where no one can see,
I have burned another color
between the letters of my name
to remain.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

Copyright by Dallas Poets Community. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.