I wrote this poem in a graduate poetry class as an allusion to The Phantom of the Opera. I have always been fascinated by the character of the Phantom, by the demons inside of him that were created by those who were afraid of a physical deformity. Music is, as my blog shows, one of my biggest inspirations for my writing, so these photos are really special. I have to thank Robert Stevenson of A Silent Film--absolutely one of my favorite bands of all time and one of my biggest inspirations, which you can read about here and here--for agreeing to be my subject for this Poems&Pictures.
Your tired yet steady fingers
slow-danced up the white keys
and down the black, and they stopped
for every beat, every measure.
And then you strode away from the keys,
the notes still trembling in the air
like phantoms in your opera.
concentrating on one eyelet to the next.
And when your shoes were tied, you walked
down the long hallway, one arm outstretched.
And you strode away from me,
your footsteps lingering in my ear
like the sound of an angel of music.
You cut yourself shaving.
Your car wouldn’t start, and when you
tried to catch a cab, it rolled through
the leftover rainwater, splashing you,
and you covered half of your face with your hands—
a white-skinned, blue-veined mask.
buzzing around you; trying, trying, failing.
You swatted me away with those fingers, those
mask-hands; you found your vengeance
in killing me quickly. The look of triumph
was finally on your face. That look was
the music of my night.