Slow Delivery My piano teacher, Mr. Weissman, Who had lost a leg in the war and always wore a tie No matter how hot it was outside or in Used to yell – Well, yell is an exaggeration Because he never spoke above a raspy whisper – For me to play “slow as a glacier” When I was learning a piece “Otherwise,” he added with his ominous eyebrows Inches from my face, “You won’t get all the notes” Being from the city Where two trees made a park and three were countryside The closest I came to glaciers was ice cubes and the wish to be Cool But I gave it a go and the slower he tapped The more flustered I became until All I could hear from my fingers was mud And I couldn’t wait to go somewhere else To launch into the rhythm of a tune, Culminating points, as he used to put it, whatever they were, Be damned I thought about Mr. Weissman one day Years after I had given up the instrument When my words, the ones with heft, Just tumbled out at her Like a sudden rockslide after a softening rain And I felt her swerve I never could get the hang of a slow delivery ________________________________________________________________________ Emanuel E. García, Leaf Thoughts, One Hundred Poems, 2013 |