First Performance
The Maestro paces, slightly nervous, near the stage door.
He knows he is ready. He has prepared almost since birth.
The cacophony on stage is overwhelming.
Seventy individuals who will soon play as a unified organism
Each playing the part they have struggled with, to ensure they get it right.
Applause confirms that the Concert Master has entered the stage.
The orchestra has quieted; a single ‘A’ calls them to tune.
A voice breaks the silence backstage. “Maestro to the stage door, please.”
The time has come. He is ready.
The door opens and the packed house roars with applause.
He has never seen the hall so crowded; he chokes back tears as he realizes
They have all come to see him in his Carnegie Hall debut.
He slowly walks to center stage, down the path
Between the last row of violins and the first row of violas.
He shakes the Concert Master’s hand, turns to the crowd, and bows.
He steps onto the platform from which he will conduct. The orchestra is silent. The crowd is silent. All are waiting for him to raise his baton.
He looks to the pianist to his right and raises the baton.
As he does so, middle-aged men and young boys begin to sing a beloved hymn.
Though his wheelchair will not allow him to be tall enough for many to see,
And his meter is irregular, without form, they follow him through the hymn.
But he hears Tchaikovsky, Mozart, and Brahms.
© Sean C. Jones, 2021
Thank you for reading my poetry.
