The Piano Tuner

Under the full moon
Of her parasol
she becomes a star
without ever knowing,
it is something to do
with the red of her dress
into a sepia scene.

She has become the red note
in a foreign tune
the photographic mirror
of light and water,
on ivory keys.

She is the perfect pitch
Of his rising sun.


    On the stage
    there is an empty
    Their music sits
    on stands their chairs
    are bare wood
    it would be hard
    for a cellist to lean
    and remain stable.
    Lights highlight
    the instruments in
    the centre one sits
    on the lap of the chair
    the others lean on
    wooden arms they wait
    for their triggers
    to be plucked,
    for the black notes
    to be fired.

(c) Jenny Powell-Chalmers. All rights reserved.

The bottom half of an image of a flax frond.