In her Astor House apartment just up
from Juilliard School, sunlight from window
beaming at her feet, with viola cupped
between clavicle and chin, she played. Bow
rose and fell like subtle lightning, striking
the soul with classic melody. Strong as
a slender weightlifter, back to me, ring
of haze haloing firm legs, pinched buttocks,
straight spine, curved horizon of broad shoulders.
Short-cropped hair shining. I thought of Jeanne d’Arc.
That was long ago. Now we’re both older,
on far roads. But her email touched my heart,
and I’m haunted by her recent CD,
recalling that day she played just for me.
Roger Armbrust
September 9, 2007
.
