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Today's poem or short story prompt is the word " spot"
RIGHT BEFORE THE DUET
ReplyDeleteSome months ago, M---- was invited to play a piece he'd written - a short piece for guitar and cello. (He'd never worked with a cellist and had written the score one octave above where he wanted it played. G---- corrected it in rehearsal.) They would be playing for a small audience as part of a recognition ceremony. The person being recognized was a complete stranger, he'd never heard of the organization, and there was no money to pay them. But M---- enjoyed playing and so he accepted the invitation.
When the day came, he copied the address from his email to a small piece of paper, folded it, and tucked it in his pocket. He packed his guitar into a soft-shell case and went out to the garage to get his bicycle. The address was less than three miles from his home and he decided not to drive. It was good for the environment and he wouldn't have to worry about parking. Also, spring was finally here air and he looked forward to getting some fresh air and exercise.
When he arrived, he stopped and stared at the building for a long time. He recognized it but wasn't certain why. He chained his bicycle to a tree and carried his guitar up the front steps. He stepped into the lobby and the memories came flooding back. This was the last building he'd been in with her before she left. There was a coffee shop on the first floor. The walls had been repainted but he remembered spending hours there with her, just reading and talking.
He hadn't played guitar then, that came later.
He checked his watch. There were still forty minutes before the performance. He went in and ordered a cup of coffee. Black. He walked around the place twice before he finally sat down at their table. He adjusted the chair until it was in the exact spot it had been when she told him goodbye.
- Mike Fedel
May, 2013
The Spot Where I End
ReplyDeleteI hold my skin on
It wants to leave my body
Wants to take me with it
Drive far away
Up a northernmost highway
Through Alaska
Across the Bering Straits
Stopped only by the Arctic
My skin can't stand frozen fingers
Frostbitten hands
This depth of cold
I'd get rest too
Me in a matchbox car
Heater blasting
Endless Christian stations
Avoiding truckers
Who flirt with me for what feels like hours
Hauling god knows what
To God know where