Piano Quintet
When I got fired that Friday,
I dreaded going home.
I pedaled around the curve
of Lighthouse Avenue
slowly, for the last time.
Then he played me a recording
of the Schumann piece that soared
through four brilliant movements,
illuminating a future where
none of this would matter.
At Chez François, we dined to heart’s content.
I wore his gifts: a silk shawl and Chanel.
At night from ancient rocks, the sea lions roared.
The whales swam back and forth on their migrations.
In Carmel Valley, I was training for the races.
Ruth Holzer formerly lived in Monterey, where she raced bicycles and had a brief career in publishing. Her poems have appeared in a variety of literary journals and have been nominated for the Pushcart and Best of the Net. The author of nine chapbooks, she now lives in Virginia.
When I got fired that Friday,
I dreaded going home.
I pedaled around the curve
of Lighthouse Avenue
slowly, for the last time.
Then he played me a recording
of the Schumann piece that soared
through four brilliant movements,
illuminating a future where
none of this would matter.
At Chez François, we dined to heart’s content.
I wore his gifts: a silk shawl and Chanel.
At night from ancient rocks, the sea lions roared.
The whales swam back and forth on their migrations.
In Carmel Valley, I was training for the races.
Ruth Holzer formerly lived in Monterey, where she raced bicycles and had a brief career in publishing. Her poems have appeared in a variety of literary journals and have been nominated for the Pushcart and Best of the Net. The author of nine chapbooks, she now lives in Virginia.
