Practicing by Linda Pastan My son is practicing the piano. He is a man now, not the boy whose lessons I once sat through, whose reluctant practicing I demanded—part of the obligation I felt to the growth and composition of a child. Upstairs my grandchildren are sleeping, though they complained earlier of the music which rises like smoke up through the floorboards, coloring the fabric of their dreams. On the porch my husband watches the garden fade into summer twilight, flower by flower; it must be a little like listening to the fading diminuendo notes of Mozart. But here where the dining room table has been pushed aside to make room for this second or third-hand upright, my son is playing the kind of music it took him all these years, and sons of his own, to want to make. ~ "Practicing" by Linda Pastan, from The Last Uncle. © W. W. Norton, 2002
Posted on: Thu, 05 Sep 2013 06:39:57 +0000
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