Last year Carol and I met a young violinist whose family lives in China, but who has lived in Los Angeles by herself since she was a teenager while pursuing advanced music studies. She has traveled the world teaching and performing, and is the inspiration for this poem.
Location
the subtle tones of the violin
maple from Croatia
and Spruce from the Black Forest
tingled her cheek in the same way
her cashmere scarf in a fall breeze
blowing up from Puget Sound
rose to muffle startled breath
and played across her face
her home they asked her that last night
and though she thought she said Shanghai
the New York sidewalks LA sun
felt as real as her warm tea
her home a metal folding chair
wedge foam cushion placed just so
back straight head back left wrist held up
ancient wood against her chin
the slight curve of the tensioned bow
resting level with her face
marking out a graceful line
drawn anywhere in space
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