Sonata In A Minor Key Copyright © Florence Cox 2011

The wind is playing a dirge
in the stands of pine
and stubborn darkness covers
the boulder-strewn meadows.

The pecked chick she saved
and brought indoors
is now the hen drooping over her shoulder,
nestling against her neck as she sits
beating Beethoven out of her grand.

On her lap, the half-wild cat she tamed and fed
coils in a warm grey mass,
ears twitching when her sleeve brushes past
as she turns a page.

The music is running, resonating,
with her fingers remembering like clockwork
where to go,
her body lost in the power of it.

But even though her deaf ear faces that way,
she can hear the slur
of bottle against glass in another room.