Beethoven’s Adagio cantabile
makes me feel like something’s about to happen,
or maybe is happening, but not for me
to know or understand. Like mortal sin
when I was a kid. Some powerful sonata
in a cassock cornered me, modulated
pitch and tone, scowling. Commanded I’m not a
saint but exact mortal sinner God hated.
I didn’t take it well. Sweated night terrors,
waking soaked as a styed pig, rooting for some
safe corner of the wet bed. What now? Piano
calm, reflective. Like my grade school teacher’s
soft voice explaining Virgin Mary’s deep love.
As we walk out in snow, she hands me my gloves.
Roger Armbrust
May 13, 2020
