b.z. niditch | one lesson


My stage uncle
with one flick
of his wrist
pushed me
into Erica Morini’s arms
sat me down
at the piano
took out my violin
and said “spiel”
and I played Brahms
the Rain Sonata,
and she with the force
armed for battle
of a perpetual motion
did not lose a note
but sustained me
in sostenuto
with those hands
and marvelous strokes
on her French bridge
of returning charm,
I’m trying not to be
the perfect kid prodigy
and did not speak a word
during that glowing hour
as first light entered
my uncle’s studio
yet not stumbling
on any passages
where your breath beats
non troppo
in a soundproof studio
never sounding the same
in one lesson’s echo
of a life time.

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