Piano and Violin
A poem by Tuxedo Jack

*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

When I hear the strings, I think of her.
When I hear the piano, I think of her.
When they play, they play tunes of inexpressible emotion,
Like rivers of sadness reaching down into my soul,
Flowing over the image of one I want,
But cannot have.

Like unto a goddess she is,
With hair of deep brown,
Her eyes a mix of emeralds and sapphires.
Her soul is that of glass,
And is pure to the atom,
And I am unworthy to fog it.

Memories of our childhood cross my mind - 
Times at her piano, where she taught me the basics
And accompanied me on her violin.
She outstripped me in every aspect,
But I was not mad,
Nor was I jealous.
I was in awe.

The strings are my eyes shutting to recall her.
The piano's sounds are my small tears dropping from my eyes
One by one.

She was beautiful, perfect - 
And I was the one to lose sight of the reality.
I lost her.

It was years ago,
Back when we were still young.
She and I went through our daily routine - 
Wake, dine, attend to our respective duties - 
And I foolishly stayed away longer than I should have.

She wasn't there that afternoon
When I went to her house to play the piano
And hear divine utterances from her violin,
As though a hoste of angels were within it.
Nor was she there that night.

I waited nervously, and eventually word came.
She and her family had left,
Left for another time and place.
I shed a few tears then, remembering what she had meant to me,
And then I laid her to rest in the tomb of my heart.

I later met her again,
But knew she was not mine.
For reasons deep in my soul, I knew
Why I could not be hers.

And so I treasure those memories
Of the soft clink of my fingers on the piano keys
And her small hands manipulating the bow to such perfection
That it seemed alive in itself,
And the beauty that exuded from both of them, her and her violin,
Was relegated to small gems in my mind.

But every so often, when I play the piano,
Or hear the violin, no matter the quality of the player,
I think of her, and wonder,
Of the goddess in mortal form,
And she looks over me, I hear.
I hope it is true.
For one day, I hope to see her, to hear her,
To hold her in my embrace again.
Until that day, my tears will be as soft as a pianist's playing,
And as beautiful as a piece of violin music.
I hope that one day
The two can play again together,
And piano and violin will play a masterpiece for the world.

*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

AUTHOR'S NOTES

This is dedicated to... you know who you are. If I ever get to Rhode Island, 
I'll look you up, my angelic violinist.

If you wish to contact me, you can do so at TuxedoJack@juno.com. I check
that every day.

Tuxedo Jack
(JRC)

August 24th, 2002