Twice
I was in
The pit orchestra
For Man of La Mancha.
My hands remember
The fingering
The rhythm
(Almost flamenco)
For the guitar part.
High school
And college productions.
So long ago.
My hands remember.
When I close my eyes
I remember
The sheet music,
Stored in another part
Of my brain.
I think of Dulcinea,
The street woman
Rescued as a maiden
In distress,
A street woman seen
As a damsel.
She saw possibility
And love
In Quixote’s eyes.
My hands remember
The guitar part for
Little Bird, Little bird,
In the cinnamon tree.
The only time I sat
On stage.
My hands remember.
My heart remembers.
It might have been
Yesterday.
