Behind the Piano

She knew she had simply

poked the piano.

Then the annual school concert -

all the girls fear

her heart, trembling limbs

and burning eyes -

Feeling her whole hand faint,

notes fumbled and slurred

into each other.

At the musical evenings,

she had played and sung,

hoping each time afresh

to be able to reproduce

the effects which came so easily

when she was alone.

But she could not discover

the secret of getting

rid of her nervousness.

Only twice had she succeeded -

at the last school concert

when she had been too miserable

to be nervous, and once

she had sung "Chanson de Florian"

in a way that had astonished

her own listening ear -

the notes had laughed

and thrilled out into the air

and come back to her

from the wall behind

the piano.

* * * * *

This is a found poem in response to the Erasures prompt at We Write Poems. I did use Pointed Roofs by Dorothy Miller Richardson as my source text.