Saturday, June 16, 2007

the hanon book

i remember the repetition
the endless up-and-down
the plunked-out plodding scales
i hated them so
but what
i would not give now
to have that certainty
of fingers on keys
hands to rhythm to
keep the music coming.
the things we do not understand
always come back
to haunt us
with my ghost
of a skill,
and uncertain, shaking fingers
pressed to keys no longer familiar.

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