Smell of resin and my musty
clarinet case, my reed’s wood taste
on my tongue as I assemble
my inherited instrument:
mouthpiece, barrel, body joints, bell.
Behind me, brass section’s spittle
bubbles, spills in staccato pffts!
A cacophony of phrases,
scales, arpeggios swirl in C
major, F sharp, B flat minor—
until the white baton’s light taps
command our sudden stillness.
With a cue, the concertmaster
at the conductor’s side sounds A,
the one note to which our many
warm dark bright airy timbres tune.
