I remember hours of practice.
When you were six, we couldn’t get you to eat.
You wrote crayon stories about the violin,
I think you slept with the violin.
Other parents would ask:
“How can you stand the missed notes;
they screech through the house?” But you
had perfect pitch. Your fingers knew what to do.
When you were eight, somehow we arranged
for you to play Bloch’s Nigun at an Anne Frank exhibit.
You were introduced with an apology to the audience of 200
who chatted and smiled to see a small child,
They were shocked to silence when you played.
Only music drove you.
As a teenager, you confided,
“Any boyfriend will have to understand music comes first.”
Recitals, performances, auditions, summer camps,
your growing up years were filled with music.
You graduated with a music degree to play
on the streets of Portland. You wanted to bring Bach to the people
(that was a year of worry).
Then you met a musician who cares
as much as you do about music.
Now you play in a symphony.
The music informs every day.
Now you are a mother.
Now you talk of getting a real job.
|Leda Rose, 3 months, in her father's viola case|
Octpowrimo's prompt for the 15th day of October asks us to write a poem to someone you cherish about something important to them. Bloch's Nigun remains my favorite piece that you play, Rachel. Here is Joshua Bell.