At night I hear Prokofiev and Liszt
and dream of playing baby grands
as sly Euterpe lures me towards
the melodies of pianists.
My fingers cannot meet the demands
of Mendelssohn’s complicated chords;
they dance instead atop computer keys
and feign the sleight of Mozart’s hands,
fluttering like hummingbirds,
composing minor symphonies
of words.

 

Christine Ann Cuccio holds a master of arts in writing from Emerson College. Her poetry has been featured in such journals as the North American Review, the Carolina Quarterly, the New York Quarterly, and Valparaiso Review. She lives in New Jersey and works as an event planner and freelance copyeditor.

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5 Responses

  1. Christine Cuccio

    I’m so thrilled to see the accompanying artwork, thank you SCP!

    Reply
    • Christine Cuccio

      Thank you so much! I modeled the rhyme scheme after the unique 11-line sonnet “Pied Beauty” by Gerard Manley Hopkins.

      Reply
  2. C.B. Anderson

    Christine,

    As someone who once aspired to become a musician (though my genre was not Classical but Bluegrass) I think you have summed up the situation perfectly. One way or another, one’s fingers must do the walking and the talking.

    Reply
  3. Wendy Bourke

    I love this mesmeric interweaving of notes and words – having had similar thoughts (though never having put them in words) it really struck a chord with me, and gave me pause. As well, the rhyme, throughout, is brilliant. This is a wonderful piece of writing!

    Reply

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