Michele Pizarro Harman
All That Begging and Pleading
When the rainbird stole over the fields, I knew it was time. And, what do pianos have to do with the
nightmares pelting the glass? All that begging and pleading and every whim? When the keys depressed in
the house, the house absorbed the music into its glass, held it, trapped, and the answer was not to break it
or steal it but to read it, the multiple scores, transcribe them when the rain magnified the lines, lit them up.
From here, in remote. The glass, Love Story in one, Chopin's Prelude in C Minor, Op. 28, No. 20 in
another, and the rain to transmute them by while people, one by one, continue to steal away like birds.
However we call after them, they ignore and resist. Cease and desist. I'll give you your free reign, your
bird refuge, your quiet bog, your Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsodie No. 2. The original Pandora, box or not.
Even, the field. Even time. Only, come back. Now. It's time.
With undergraduate and graduate degrees in English literature and creative writing from UCLA and UF, MICHELE PIZARRO HARMAN has had poems published in such literary journals and online venues as Quarterly West, The Antioch Review, Mississippi Mud, Midwest Quarterly, Puerto del Sol, Sycamore Review, Berry Blue Haiku, Shepherd’s Check, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, The Commonline Journal, a handful of stones, Miriam’s Well and Connotation Press. She currently lives with her husband and two of their four children in the small town in Central California where she and her husband grew up; among the poppies, crows, and cranes, she teaches reading in a public elementary school.