Apollo

A juxtaposition between generations.

You were eleven years old,
with hair curled and eyes gleaming,
eager for the feel of ivory
beneath your small, quick fingers.

You stood outside,
waiting,
sheet music clutched tightly,
for the clip of your
mother’s heels to resound
over the concrete driveway.
The mountains gathered around you,
grand bastions of hope,
and the sun extended her arms
in a warm embrace of comfort.
You played music in your mind;
“The Entertainer” waltzed
alongside “Ave Maria,”
echoing out across the mountains;
reflecting up into the sky.

Thirty years later,
a door slammed behind me
and I stood outside;
hair untamed and eyes watered over,
a one-eared cat clutched tightly,
all matted fur
and glossy button eyes.

The mountains loomed above me,
sprawling shadows at my feet
and the sun turned away;
rain slid down the windows
in tear-stain streaks.
Music echoed in my ears:
shattered glass and
angry shouts;
a travesty of a song
muffled by heavy, grey clouds.


Apollo: Greek god of light and music