Poetry Friday: On Stage

Today's poem comes from Out of the Dust by Karen Hesse.

On Stage

When I point my fingers at the keys,
the music
springs straight out of me.
Right hand
playing notes sharp as
tongues,
telling stories while the
smooth
buttery rhythms back me up
on the left.

Folks sway in the
Palace aisles
grinning and stomping and
out of breath,
and the rest eyes shining,
fingers snapping,
feet tapping. It's the best
I've ever felt,
playing hot piano,
sizzling with
Mad Dog,
swinging with the Black Mesa Boys,
or on my own,
crazy,
pestering the keys.
That is
heaven.
How supremely
heaven
playing piano
can be.

January 1934 (13-14)

Roundup is at Wild Rose Reader.