The Melody of Her PulseA Poem by xxIt's hard to keep time, even if you have a metronome at your side.The Melody of Her Pulse
The melody of her pulse belongs to a strange time signature whenever he draws near enough to pluck at the shaking chords of her shaking mind. She understands his reticence as clearly as she understands her own. She understands the arrhythmic absence of his sympathies and glances. She hides from it all. She hides from his silence and loudness is the only thing that will ever draw her out. And the melody of her pulse rests for two beats and the first note slurs for three; the timbre of her heartbeat drops without warning from treble clef to bass. But she has valor. She trills the proper notes but at an octave or seven too high; she splays her fingers over the piano keys. Her fingers slip - too many b sharps and d flats thrown in with all the naturals. The metronome ticks on, unheeded. Both feet are on the pedals - all three pedals, all three - and she tries to fill in for the missing notes with slurs and the sostuneto. But the silence is there. Her ears are ringing with all the sounds flying from the strings and her pulse throbs strangely against her skin but she feels the broken quiet all the same. It's all in the technique. The proper finger movements, the training. By the time she moves on to the G scale, she says, she'll have forgotten that he was never there. The melody of her pulse refuses to follow the time signature she set for herself. But she can't stop - she fears the silence because loudness is the only thing that will ever draw her out. © 2012 xxFeatured Review
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Added on March 3, 2012Last Updated on March 3, 2012 Author
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