Pianist (a sonnet)

By Eric Meub

You’ll practice a sonata hours on end—

Your fingers plucking clustered harmonies

From music books and banks of ivory keys—

But I’m not jealous of the time you spend.

You’ll master Mozart, Chopin, Debussy,

And then, one fine September, polish off

The Third Concerto of Rachmaninoff,

But I don’t envy virtuosity.

And when those fingers dally in delight,
One tune upon my torso sugarcoats
With semiquavers all my lowest notes…
But I’m not begging for your touch tonight.

It’s only that I wonder, what will be
Your next achievement once you’ve mastered me?

Copyright © 2023 by Eric Meub Eric Meub is a California poet & architect.