That Sonata Revisited
by Marvin R. Hiemstra

Red-head woodpeckers tapping
all over town, turned summer on.

My ancient piano teacher – her stalwart
father, 11, drummer boy in his father’s Civil
War band: captured, survived playing music
for scraps in a Confederate prison – my piano
teacher loved 50 students a week for 64
seasons. Think of the life sustaining delight.

V formations overhead and pheasants
against the grain meant autumn.

Think the pain of every key change!
When she got to Marvin, she knew
this peculiar, articulate twig would
not become governor of hawkeyed Iowa.
This little guy adored all birds totally,
cooked great meals, and ran the household:

12-foot global lilac bush dipped in snow
held a pair of cardinals every winter.

Mother stuck in an echo of her childhood.
This little guy flatly refused to learn how
to cheat others. He would be a poet. Each
lesson my teacher, sibylline, whispered,
“Your music will save you, lad!” non
as we ironed out the trills.

Spring was such an uproar in the trees.
I made a list of every bird making love.