Quiet self-assurance only thinly veils
The quaking excitement, a quick drawn breath
That wails over a familiarly dry palate.
Don’t think too much, you’ll be fine.
What empty platitudes?
Who can think under the soggy, cotton wool miasma of nervous anticipation?
Through the double doors they wait, attitudes.
Can she hide,
Last night’s restless stomach crawling?
Voices calling,
Tired hands and cramped neck, “Try it again”, “Concentrate”, “Again”, “No, one more time” follow
The line of busy notes across the blurring page.
Try it again.
They wait
And bow in hand
She is as ready as she’ll ever be to make her stand.
And suddenly it is here
And clear, the doors open with a smiling face, boy, girl or otherwise in its place.
The sharp heel clip strikes through applause, pause,
Bow low,
Slowly self-conscious, don’t look the beast in the eye least you falter and fall
Drop the wall and let the tension drown all.
Take the seat and to the tune of the deafening thunder of your heartbeat
Adjust the height and settle the spike.
Bow in hand, she’s as ready as she’ll ever be and adjusts the stand.
Hair to string and key to hammer, with a shout
They’re off
And G minor takes an early lead.
Melodic fingers feed the ripples of sound
That race across the hallowed, St Martin’s ground.
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