The singer threads her way around the dimly lit tables
like a moth
or a runaway
love letter, weaving in the wind
And perches up on the stage, right behind a
piano.
Her eyes run around the room,
Quickly tracing the faces she knows, taking in the ones she doesn't.
She clears her throat, introduces herself, and begins a song.
Her voice dances gently down and around the piano melody,
Recalling fragments of childhood friendships, of catastrophe, of contagious smiles
She finishes up. Her eyes sweep the room, looking again at faces she knows and faces she doesn't.
She can feel all the eyes on her; they are silent and pleading, but for what?
She makes a little joke. She gets back a little laughter.
Sitting at the second table to her right, I sip my cheap beer
And wish I had an upbeat comeback to shout, something to lighten the mood
But my heart is still swaying under her spell.
After pouring memory and feelings out over us, like snowflakes,
How strange that she would be nervous.