Sunday, April 13, 2014


The day before,
My mother rang me up
Singing Beethoven’s
Appassionata first movement
Like it was written for voice
Into the receiver
I moved the phone farther from my ear
Not comfortable having someone sing into my ear
Especially something written for piano
Plus she was dead two years.

I listened like a good son though
Like a musician, the violinist at heart
And felt the Beethoven waft across my body
Like warm rage.

What’s that sound my wife asked from the other room
It’s your mudder-in-law
Breaking wind – I mean bread
From beyond the fringe of life

She thought I was a wise guy
Didn’t retort but ignored me
And I hummed the passionata
With all my heart and soul
With every fiber of my guts
Like the day I was born till
The day I’ll die.

(c) Alan S. Kleiman 2014
 published: AfricanHadithi - April 2, 2014

No comments:

Post a Comment