Tagged: Vladimir Horowitz


morning remedy
on my fifth bag of frozen
berries wrapped in a wet
towel, Vladimir started
on the Schumann Träumerei –
a tough rival to overtake
when it comes down to
the magic of lulling
one swollen eyelid
to go down quietly
while the other stands
like an older child
defeating curfew
for the very first time



(for sergei rachmaninoff)

on your birthday, i imagine
four very fragile and lovely
hands breaking in
the twin Steinways Vladimir
brought as gifts overnight –

and oh, how he
rolled them in so
noisily, both wrapped like
no-nonsense bouquets
in clear crinkly paper
so that he could hide
the surprise awhile longer
suppress the singing
strings pulled breathlessly
still, their suspense weighing
heavily upon each wheel –

and how they finally
burn tonight,
hands and strings, as old
friends, you and Vladimir
swallow fire-breathing
concertos whole again
just inches
above the reflection
of New York City