Piano Lesson

November was cold in the studio,

Windy Thanksgiving and the month of my birthday-

I tied my shoe and shook ice out of a green stocking cap.

It was a corridor the length of a ship

Where one waited his turn, in an old theater seat;

The shrill sea whistled under each door.

I rolled up the music and looked through, a poor

Telescope for an island view,

The edges grimy, shedding

Where I had rubbed my wet thumb;

A lonely voyage.

On time, Miss Macy appeared,

A great figure in black, morning over the wide waters, joy.

Her eyes looked into me,

And she called.

One always began with the Hannon scales

Stretching and then shrinking just short of the bass growl.

She lotioned her hands like two fish; a solemn ear kept she!

One practiced her dreams, next months recital-Afternoon of a

Faun,

Rondo Capriccioso for Four Hands. She raised her head toward the

score-

Was it the moon? A fragrant wild wind.

Matron of rhythm!

Sources of light and dark. The beat, authority of chords

For small hands, concept and firmness of melody and hands-the

wrist,

The wrist and the elbow. Crescendo! Diminuendo, ballet.

One played in the rain, in the snow,

Hours of fall practice on the old upright at home,

Hours, whole afternoons by the metronome,

The windows shining, darkening.

This was crossing

At the worst time of year but I think,

Once, we reached Europe and Russia in perfect time,

That single half hour when the wind died.