Music Marielle

Music Marielle

There is a little girl I have to wait to see. 

She's not as young as you might think, 

At least, that's what got around to me.

I've never talked to her at all 

And never seen her face,

But she plays music beautifully 

And brightens this sad place.

The first day that she came to play

It sounded timid, quiet, and scared.

She wasn't sure if we had heard

Her fingers touch the keys that day.

But we were list'ning, every one

Of us sick boys and girls.

She came and brought us all good cheer 

Tuesday and Friday til the end of year.

December fourteen came and went as it would

But she'd come on a Monday, and it was for good.

She never left us at all anymore

But her soft piano gave no more noise.

I've often heard her cry at night;

Scream and sob and yell out "Why?"

There's been no music, not a single note,

But the nurses say she's a "sinking boat."

It's January third, and I've gone to her bed,

She opened her eyes and lifted her head:

"Go away, boy, I'm not anything new,

I'm a sinking boat, what they say is true."

I didn't speak, but examined the girl,

Her hair sparkled brown, with hardly a curl.

The eyes were deep blue, and ever so sad,

But other than that, she didn't look so bad.

She then got out of bed, and glared at me,

A stony expression, now eyes cold as the sea.

The girl looked so healthy, not weak or stretched thin,

So I asked, "Why are you here, in this place where I live?"

She sighed, looked at me, then sat down and said,

"I wasn't always like this: as good as dead.

I used to be happy, and dance and make music

But when I went to the doctors, they said I was sick.

"I told them I wasn't, there could be no way

That I could be sick for more than six days.

But then they confirmed that I was and I would

My life was to stop, they said that it should.

"So here I am now, a sicky, like you,

I used to make music, but that I can't do.

I played here because I would brighten you day;

I felt sorry for you, now I guess we're the same."

I looked at her closely, then gave her a smile,

"I'd get back to your music, if you'll be here a while. 

I bet you'd be happier, if your brain got to think

Because if you hide in here, you really will sink."

I waited two weeks, hoping to hear

The sound of the piano, soft but also clear.

She just won't come out of her undisturbed shell,

And all that i know is her name's Marielle.

Then it was April the second, and she's come to me,

With terrible news: "I'm dying, don't you see?

They told me April Fools' Day, I thought it a joke,

But there was no humor in the ways that they spoke.

"What do I do? I shouldn't die!

The worst I've ever done is telling a lie.

I'm only fourteen, my life isn't done,

But this awful sickness has already won.

"Do you remember? You came to my room

About a month after this sealed my doom.

I was happy before then, nothing was wrong,

I danced after school, and played you all songs.

"My parents were happy, their life was set right

They both had good jobs, their path was alright.

Me and my family were and ordinary band

Til we left so abruptly to this cursed land.

"And now I can't dance, or do what I love

I am so weak, and fragile as a dove.

It's infinitely unfair, and maddening, to say the least.

I'm home to an ever-present, all-consuming ugly beast."

She left without waiting for an answer from me,

And I didn't find her for over a week.

Again came her echoing screams every night,

And I wondered profusely, "Would she be alright?"

On April nineteenth, she appeared at my door

Marielle was too weak to be angry anymore.

She said this quite clearly, both verbally and not,

And asked if I might be able to help her with the sickness she'd got.

I said I would gladly be at room sixty-one

Because Marielle told me she would play me a song.

I thought and pondered a lot that night,

But it seemed that she would turn out alright.

The sun dawned on the twentieth of April that day,

I told her I'd be there, come whatever may.

I knocked on the door, and there she sat,

A chair just for me, for the concert I was at.

"Fair warning," Marielle said, "I won't be very good,

I haven't been treating my fingers as I should.

I can't play for long, as I'm fragile, like a dove,

But this is my return for your friendly love."

Then away went her talking and then came a song

From her piano I hadn't heard in so long.

She played all her fears and her heartbreaks, too,

I understood most of it, and our hearts--how they flew!

They flew past our rooms with our sick-spattered walls,

They flew to a meadow, one without any flaws.

Together we flew over Paris, and London, and Rome,

We flew for hours, it seemed, but not really for long.

When she had finished, we both shared a smile.

We knew where we'd gone: many, many miles

Away to a fantasy we couldn't have found

It was fun while it lasted, those beautiful sounds.

No words were spoken, there was no need,

The piano had said it all for us, it seemed.

I went back to my room, she went back to her bed,

But her song will forever be glued in my head.

She died two weeks later, it wasn't much fun;

Her funeral was out in the cold-hearted sun.

It still shined so brightly, though a life was no more,

Light went out of the eyes that belonged on the shore.

In my hospital bed, all alone, it came to me,

I would tell the story of the eyes of the sea.

The world would know of the fingers that fell

On the soft piano of Music Marielle.

M. E. Cedar