Last year they played Mozart,
(that is, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”)
bows quivering, brows furrowed
the audience flinching as each
sound scraped against our bones,
telling ourselves, optimistically:
______________It’s a beginning.
Those stars have twinkled
through a blur of nights,
private lessons, and sectionals.
Sound mellows, no longer piercing,
carried full in a brass bowl: resonant.
This year they play Vivaldi,
“Spring” in the springtime,
violins chasing each other
across the stage like butterflies,
violas swooping in the graceful
counterpoint of dragonflies,
while the low hum of the cellos
buzzes underneath, honeyed,
and the basses spin busy webs.
Our hearts spill over, remembering
those not-so-distant, tremulous stars,
that hesitant, quavering beginning,
transformed with the turning of seasons
into the riotous beauty of spring.