Books by Diane Frank

Canon for Bears and Ponderosa Pines

Cello Lesson

Down a flight of stairs
on a snowy evening
in Ashland, by Lithia Park.
He’s playing Bach
in the cheese shop
as diners finish their brie,
flatbread, soup and wine,
some listening, some not.

We sit on a stone bench,
for this moment
forgetting to order tea
or an oatmeal cookie.
We’re here for the music
and when he plays the D-Minor
Bach Sarabande
by memory, with his eyes closed
it opens my heart.

Later, he flies into my dream,
a yellow bird
singing high rippling notes
I can’t follow with my cello.

As the full moon shimmers the ocean,
I hear him whisper . . .

Let all technique
fly out the window
into the salty waves
and from your heart
let that beautiful note

Emotions expand into vibrato,
color and light,
a curtain of blue butterflies.
The first note of the Popper Requiem,
a meteorite
falling into the ocean.

And that perfect note
I so desperately want
and can almost feel in my body,
swimming so deep
inside me . . .

It’s something about the heart
breaking open.

— Diane Frank