Prelude and Fugue
Something of late November
sifting through a window
brings back this prelude—
two voices blend, I lean
into the keys, draw back
when the voices part.
How the body remembers—
Señora V in a floral sundress,
rose talcum hand soft
on the curve of my spine
imprinting what she knew
of love and time. How could I know
what those notes would mean
decades of preludes ahead.
Credit
Copyright © 2019 Angela Narciso Torres. This poem was originally published in Quarterly West. Used with permission of the author.
Date Published
01/08/2019