Pianoforte
by Arlene Ang
Here the primary directive
is largo: on good days, I cut
my nails before going through Bach's
fugues. Sun on my bare shoulder
feels like a newborn's head.
Tranquillo: the first notes
like first steps; there is comfort
in forgetting the same piece I play
every day. Late morning street
sounds bind me to life —
festoso, the children cutting
classes; sciolto, stiletto heels
on pavement; tonante, a passing
lorry; burlesco, the exhaust
pipes of motorbikes.
I close my eyes, concentrate
on my immune system: crescendo,
the mantra escapes my lips.
I'm dressed for work, the office
a distant memory of well-being.
This is how I live: pianissimo
in the curve of a hand poised over
the keyboard-ready for movement,
prepared, at any moment, for
recovery. My shoelaces are tied.