ONLY HUMAN 1962A Poem by Terry CollettA GIRL PLAYS SCHUMANN WHILE HER BOYFRIEND AND MOTHER LISTEN IN 1962Yochana played the Schumann piece. Her fingers nimble and soft ran over the keyboard to a preplanned purpose. Her mother and Benedict sat on the sofa listening; her father was out in the garden weeding, classical music bored him. Yochana played from memory, the Schumann was a piece of cake (an expression she'd got from Benedict). Her mind was elsewhere, on last night in Benedict's bed (or the guest room bed where he was), on how she had crept across the passageway to his room and entered his bed. A little slower there, her mother said, this is Schumann's sensitive work, needs more gentleness. Benedict looked on at Yochana, trying to ignore her mother, listened to the music, eyed her waist, narrow, the hips, the way she moved her body as she played, her bottom easing side to side in her playing. Yochana slowed down a fraction, her fingers (if fingers have memory) thought of the motion of opening Benedict's nightwear buttons, the touching of his piece. This is a difficult part, her mother said, take it carefully, Yochana, do not rush. Yochana slowed, heard her mother's voice behind her, imagined Benedict sitting there watching her in his silence, his mind on other matters than the Schumann, after all, she mused soft smiling, we are only human. © 2016 Terry Collett |
StatsAuthorTerry CollettUnited KingdomAboutTerry Collett has been writing since 1971 and published on and off since 1972. He has written poems, plays, and short stories. He is married with eight children and eight grandchildren. on January 27t.. more..Writing
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