He only lost her when
the music stopped
inner light faded from her face
her narrow arms, restless eels
winding through her shirt
snapping at the rising buzz
of voices, increasingly unbearable.
The teacher swooped in, miming
arms held close, contained; too late
for the pianist, armed with her name
and a captive audience, he accented
her frailty with two sharp syllables
and she was gone from there
to some mysterious world
away from the crowd frozen
in the silent beat after
the reprimand.
It was only a moment
before the music resumed
opening notes vibrated up
through her toes, lovely arms
unraveled and rose overhead
her radiant smile
unfurled like forgiveness.
I wrote this after watching young children at a musical performance. An autistic girl stole the show by completely inhabiting the music with her joyful body. It was a lovely thing to witness. But in a brief lull between numbers, she grew restless. The pianist yelled the word NO and her name and it was like she instantly disappeared from her own body. Only the music brought her back. A regret I still carry is not speaking out against the pianist's very public shaming. I ask that child and her parents for forgiveness.
