playing the cello

My ONE and ONLY public performance.

So, of course, I’m going to share a poem. I think I’ve mentioned before that I once took cello lessons. I think it’s an absolutely gorgeous instrument and while those piano lessons I took as a kid didn’t pan out, I figured wanting to learn to play would give me a leg up this time around.
And it did. But you can only get so far by grit alone. I eventually ran up against an utter lack of natural talent and so, set the instrument aside after learning to play something that was at least recognizable. Sometimes, you just have to let go.
Watching Yo Yo Ma
wring a symphony
from four thin strings,
I think of the cello
sitting idle in my closet
behind a wedding gown
and a sack of old clothes.
I was not made for music,
no matter how my hands
itch to wield a bow,
to sing a mellow song
that vibrates deep
in my soul. I feel
music hiding there,
but my fingers refuse
to pluck it out.
It seems there are many
things I wasn’t made to do,
though I often nurture
the seeds of longing.
This garden of mine is weedy,
rabbits nibble tender leaves.
Still, I’ll scatter handfuls
of seeds to see what grows.
And then . . .
. . . I’ll make music of that.