the recital

had her parents forced her into it like so many do,
then she might still be a virtuoso, that is true,
however,
to see a kid make for themselves a hobby into a skill,
just
because
they
want
to,
is something that holds little comparison in the adult world,
a place where obligation &
environmental distraction rules out
most beautiful ambitions
allowing release on only the most begged for occasions---
Desislava adjusts her position on the bench,
her hands placed now only inches above the
ivories &
the whole place is silent
(but filled with anticipation)
as the first chords drop &
her left hand begins to strike in the same manner that
Rachmaninoff himself might have when composing the
Prelude Op. 3, No. 2, in c-sharp major---
a gentle coasting along at first
as if massaging the keys
as if her fingers were fluttering upon a down pillow &
soon the flutterings begin to hammer down
with pounding resonance &
this skilled young woman
picks up the pace
ra-ta-tat-tatting like a machine gun along the intricate
textures
with fingers & hands smaller than the gargantuan composer’s
not missing a note
not straying from her interpretation’s aura
not losing the rhythm being played out by her
foot pedal &
when you close your eyes all the drama being thrown from the piano
your way begins to envelop your whole being &
she has accomplished her greatest task,
that task of a true great---
she has made you feel the music.