First Place Winner
Instructor: Mr. Barile
How It Feels To Be A Pianist
There’s more than just the three to
six minutes of playing,
Hands just simply walking across the
black and white keys.
When staring at the miscellany notes
on the page,
The page is never just a sheet of
music to me,
But a piece of artwork that tells
many stories.
Whether that one song plays
As a teary-eyed father strides,
Arms latched with his daughter’s,
Who is glowing in a brilliant white
dress,
And staring at a man at the end of
the aisle,
Waiting to recite her handwritten
vows.
Through in-between breaths
As a child’s good night lullaby.
Or out of old speakers, barely
audible,
As a young boy lies on the damp
grass,
Filling his eyes with the dark cosmic
sky.
A sudden sea change.
My touch softening as I crumple in
towards the piano.
Careful, as if the keys were fragile,
With a whispering story escaping
At every kiss of my fingers.
How the song plays,
Whether as tears drip from her chin
and onto her pillow,
While the melody enters her mind,
As she lays motionless.
Through the room filled with
Speechless friends holding crumpled
tissues,
An aunt who can no longer write
letters every month,
A younger brother and sister
Wondering where their heroic brother
could be,
And a mother holding her baby,
Whether he be 5 years old or 30,
Repeating her words “I love you”
As she rocks back and forth,
Hoping he comes back.
Or fighting against the sound of
pelting rain,
The sky becoming colored with gloomy
clouds,
As she sits face to face with the
window,
Slightly seeing her reflection in the
glass,
And every raindrop stuck to it.
There’s no separate feeling
From the three to six minutes
Of how my body molds with the music,
How my fingers fall
From the whites to blacks to the whites
again.
Or staring at the sheet music, pieces
of artwork,
That tell many adventures.