poetpotter

In our one-room school house, all the grades had music together. In my private piano lessons I was learning about quarter notes and whole notes, rests and tempo, so much of what we learned at school, I was already learning in my piano lessons. Sometimes at school we pushed our desks together. This poem was a memory about those times when I sat with my friend who was even smaller for her years than I was. Picture this in your mind. The music lessons the teacher tells us about half notes     quarter notes rests and tempo in my bumper-to-bumper desk fit tight to yours we beat out patterns on aging wood our feet barely touching the floor   treble clef                  the lacy clef that our mothers sing bass    the big “C”              the notes our daddies sing   andantino it’s dancing music legato and I whisper “slowly now” The teacher’s fingers dance across   the blacks and whites an octave would be too much for your sm