“Centre Stage,” “M.” and “Dunnage”

Centre Stage

The leader

Hooked on your every pluck, every strum, every bow,

Blocked out the rest of the symphony

Enthralled by you completely,

The thoughtfulness moves me

Playing my favourite pieces, unprompted, freely,

Delicately handling the strings as if your life depended on it,

Against the backdrop of reciprocity.

You search for me in the audience,

Hold my gaze, and perform for me

Like this is a private recital,

Centre Stage

I don’t remember the exact moment,

Maybe it was finding out you spoke the same dialect of

Music

Or that you weathered similar storms,

It felt so easy and light

Brighter melody as I willingly invited you

into this cloaked heart,

only the occasional ray previously shining through.

Maybe you were always here

Lying dormant

A book already read

Ready to be picked up off the shelf,

Dusted off to be read

again.

All it took was one strike of a match

Lighting up a path previously taken

Tried to blame it on writer's block

It was only while deep in isolation,

Peeling back the

layers,

and interrogating the attic of my mind

That I encountered

A web of words begging to be released,

Trapped by resistance and denial, likely culprits

of my current predicament—

a self-fulfilling prophecy,

Now free,

Suddenly

everything seems clearer,

lighter