Claudia Gary

A Last Aubade

Thrashers awaken us, their songs self-taught
as ours. Is this the day dogwoods begin
filling each tangled branch with white, a thin
semblance of last year's bourgeoning? We've caught
each other's questions, answers, every thought
vibrant, then calm. I hear warm currents spin
the riddled heart your love has sheltered in,
its fibers torn by nature's juggernaut.

Before spring ends, the mauve magnolia tree
will blink again and dash its pretty show
across the lawn. You may no longer be
here with me. Watching moss and wildflowers grow
huddled in shade, I’ll feign serenity,
envying birds their oratorio.

Under the Grand Piano

Some days it was a playhouse
with stubby shelves for me
while she played Debussy.

I sheltered like a stray mouse
in comfort and in tune,
absorbing Clair de Lune.

The damper pedal’s hiccup
allowed a little wave
of sound to misbehave.

Sitting on knees, I’d pick up
my canisters of beads
to find what a mouse needs

for serving cakes to Mozart
and watching Mother’s feet.
The afternoon complete,

I could feel every note start.
Reverberating tones
massaged my growing bones.

From time to time I’d speak up
from under everything
and volunteer to sing.

A miniature teacup
vibrated on the wood
where each crescendo stood.

Claudia Gary lives near Washington DC and teaches workshops on Villanelle, Sonnet, Natural Meter, Poetry vs. Trauma, etc., at The Writer’s Center (writer.org), currently via Zoom. Her poems are internationally published and anthologized; she has been a semifinalist for the Anthony Hecht Prize (Waywiser) and received Honorable Mention in the 2021 Able Muse book contest.  She has chaired panels at the West Chester University (Pa.) and the Robert Frost Farm poetry conferences. Author of Humor Me (2006) and several chapbooks, most recently Genetic Revisionism (2019), she is also a health science writer, visual artist, and composer of tonal chamber music and art songs. For more information, see pw.org/content/claudia_gary and follow her on Twitter at @claudiagary.