By Michael Keshigian
He asked them
to take the music outside,
listen as they held it toward the sky,
let the wind rattle its stems,
or place the sheet against an ear
to hear a tune
through the hollow of its shell.
He told them to jog
the parameters of the staves,
walk the winding road of its clef
and imagine living there.
Perhaps they could drop a feather
upon the music's resonance,
follow its float among the timbres,
or ski the slopes of musical peaks,
gliding unencumbered into its valleys,
then thank the composer
for varying the landscape
when they left the lodge.
But the class was determined
to stalk each phrase,
analyze chords for manipulation, cunning
and seek the hidden form.
They handcuffed the notes
to the music stand,
even flogged the melody
with a drum mallet,
until it whistled a meaning never intended.
***
"Sweet Pleasure"
By Michael Keshigian
Sweet little chocolate
in the candy shop,
I gave your brown shell
a bite when no one saw,
took your creamy filling
for a ride in my mouth,
on my tongue
to all those secret places
where I might sense the nuance
of your flavored butter breath.
As you awakened my palate,
I tried to appear innocent
from the guilty pleasure
your confectionary sin availed,
greeting the clerk
with a tight lipped smile
as I perused the display
with you discreetly perched
behind my teeth,
slowly melting away.