Intermission This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   Ever since

I was a child

I have marveled

at the sheer audacity

of the one who begins

the intermission.



I have driven

the long

tired

country roads

to the fairy land of music.



Where young men

play their hearts out

at the back of the Shed

while afternoon curtsies

like a soloist

at the end of

her performance.



I have seen fireworks

and heard John Philip Sousa

and felt the tiny footsteps

of children waltzing politely

to a cello sonata.



I have smelled summer

and become lost

in a prickly green maze

of music

and walls made of ivy.



I have remembered

the sight of

the valley at sunset

with its pink and orange fingers

of evening.



Since then I have mourned for the

memory

and wept for the music

and Mr. Ozawa himself

whom I have only seen at Wednesday morning rehearsals

where no one has the audacity to insert

an intermission.




This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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