Confessions
to Solfeggio
I am a note.
That much
I know.
I may be
a breve or
semi,
a minim
or, God forbid,
a quaver.
It could be
worse:
imagine if I
were to
discover that I
am
hemidemisemiquaver.
The shame of it!
For all I know
I’m a natural.
Possibly a
sharp?
Whatever.
Anything is
better
than being flat.
Ghost notes are
nice.
A pensato is
just
too
insubstantial.
Grace notes have
their decorative
charm.
Just between us?
I’d love to turn
into
an accidental.
Never mind.
Anything goes
as long as
