A Soloists Joy

Fingers cracked and bleeding
Palms cold and rough
Nails painfully short below the fingertip
A chance
Arms burning with muscle pain
Back breaking straight
Legs are shaking
Fingers slipping
Flip the sheet right side up
The humming noise shortly stops
Expectant eyes on you
Trembling you stand slowly
The blinding light streams only to you
A chance
The side of your chin sets
On the cold curved ebony wood
Your right arm rises
Settles quickly
A short burst of optimism
You tense
Pull the bow
Strings scream out
Fingers rush to fit the spots on the string
Half Step
Whole Step
Shifting, thirds, fourths, and fifths
Your accidental sigh crackles in the mic
Crescendo builds to a fortissimo
Fermata on the rest
A dramatic staccato
Clapping starts slow
Then shouts accompany the growing avalanche
Yes
You did it
You sigh again
This time you made sure the mic was off
Ah
A Soloist’s Joy.





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