Languages | 2013
*This poem was published in Danse Macabre in 2013
Homeless scarab beetles
running rampant on snowy-canvas spreads
muffle her silent whimpering
I’m not fluent in Cello…
..not nearly as fluent as I am in piano
Scandalous affairs
teasing, seducing, coercing
black and white cacophonies
that overpower her fragile thinking
I’m not fluent in Accordion…
…not nearly as fluent as I am in piano
The cadence of Russian fingers
pirouette on the keyboard delicately
turn, after turn, after turn,
only pausing to forcefully lament
I’m not fluent in any musical instrument at all…
…not nearly as fluent as I am in piano
Oblivious
as to how her own musings
translated from French or Russian
render her English a carnival’s house of mirrors
as she insists she is not fluent in any discourse as she is fluent in piano
Perhaps nothing is lost in translation
Perhaps piano,
much like Russian, French, or English
were indeed a dialect
an esoteric complexity
vicariously expressing itself
as these colorless insects articulate the musical equivalence of
“Hello”
“How are you”
and “I shall like to see you again, some time very soon.”