Friday, June 29, 2012

The Organ

I heard your voice bubble up
with tremendous pressure, and rush--escape
from within me to my fingertips,
my skin in such a violent tremble,
I could not bear it. The intensity
leaked through me, landed on the organ keys
with a strike of the chord, a jolt of existence,
and resonated--resonated bass from the pipes.
The church walls would not budge, but carried the sound 
to every corner, flooding the air
with music of my sorrow for you,
music of my love for you,
music of how I'm leaving soon--
echoing, echoing of how I'll miss you.
It's wearing on me--every nerve shown.
Every tendon and muscle exposed,
my heart pumping the bellows--not in my chest--
now within the air's atmosphere.

I was in Music Appreciation when I wrote this last week, listening this piece by Bach (Fugue in G minor) and thinking about how in just two months, I'll be living away from here. Away from home for the first time in my life.

Haven--my car--and my lovely home.
It's bittersweet, really. I'm ready to go forward. I'm ready to get away from my house. But I absolutely hate the thought of leaving behind the ones I love for so long.

Two months.