At Symphony Hall

Don’t be deceived by those of us who sit

as still as stone. You’ve seen us tamely knit

our brows and fingers, but the cells inside

are madly tangled, and our dignified

façades are porous, ready to collect

the airborne gifts that gestures might deflect.

To draw and soak up every note, we seek

to be unmoving targets—open, meek

allowing sound to breach skin easily

and then infect the blood with ecstasy.

We listen with the patience of the lame:

unmoving and unmoved are not the same.

One thought on “Jean L. Kreiling

  1. What a wonderful, tightly written (or should I say “knitted”) poem. I’ve been an “unmoving target” in that space many times. Congratulations. Is there a recording? Pat

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