Chord
A poem by Susie James

 Chord

Stacked like tiny bubbles
on different lines
or nestled perfectly between them,
black as the eye of a crow
or white as bone,
three notes on the page
sound as one. 

In black and white like the maestro,
the chord waits for the downbeat,
waits for the flautist’s sweaty fingers­­—
for the bass, her hand reaching
down the catgut string like a dancer,
and the violist, to stroke
the horsehair bow across the string,

who with curled finger leans in to bend
the chord into resonant perfection
that frees overtones, unearthly sounds
that sing in your skull
and reverberate in your pelvis.

Held for three heartbeats, it vanishes
into the majesty of horns,
the welling tears of the violins’ wail.

About the Author:

Susie James is by education a classical pianist.  Her poetry has been published in journals and magazines including The MacGuffin, Atlanta Review, Monterey Review and Briar Cliff Review as well as several anthologies. James won the Blue Light Book Award for 2007 and published her first book of poems, Under a Prairie Moon.

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