A Selection in Contemporary Classical Instrumentation
I. for SudoName’s “Moonsetter”
It requires a nimbleness of fingers as well as a nimbleness of the tongue. An absurd little jig. Pupils dilate and there. What glory lies within winding down, within the glimpse of a pale ankle, with a tarantula and a ragged little gasp. I see a tear fall down your face in the driver’s seat and I wipe it away. My thumbnail is broken. An amateur cardiac arrest, ribs disappointingly brittle, I have to wonder how long they will last -- the wave crashes against the shore but the wind whips the sand into your eyes nonetheless. Advanced vocabulary is a requirement and thoughts evolve into gales until you’re capable of breathing again. Lovingly omniscient. Catharsis? One day we’ll arrive.
II. for Andrea and Ennio Morricone’s “Cinema Paradiso”
A tragedy only the Victorians could comprehend. How long can a lithe neck stretch and how often, how deleteriously, can my thoughts drift back to you? How many golden daydreams will haunt me and how is it possible to mourn for a life that was never known? I will crumble for you then and I will crumble for you now. Dusty mosaics and creased clay, it wraps its effervescence around my throat and lingers there. Until I listen. Until I understand. Until my eyes water and bend, break, sigh. Fresh satin and it dances against a violet sky -- a violent sky. Hair raising on arms, in anticipation, in trepidation, the violins fully prepared to swallow us whole and I’m prepared to let them.
III. for Justin Hurwitz and Tim Simonec’s “When I Wake”
The most repetitive dream consisting of lightness on the earth, on the ground, in pointy-nosed stiletto heels. Brown-eyed woman in indigo-tinted kohl, her waterlines left raw and pale. You’re jolted, the trill of a stunted laugh ricocheting off the crowds, because you know it you hear it you feel it and the backs of your eyelids alert you -- you’re somewhere else. Arteries sway to the beat. A glint of white teeth and a contagion. That’s it, a glittery contagion, a tickled lung, I like that you’re smiling now. I like that you’re here, now, you’re present, now, because what is now, really? What a lovely, decent reminder that time is circular. That you’re here just as heavily as I am.
IV. for The Chamber Orchestra of London’s “Emancipation”
Blinking at the glint of light bouncing off the windowpane, it’s as if every leafed edge, every fluttering iris has chosen to fall still at an exact moment. Each skyline, each wave encapsulated in your wrist, in your winding veins and the rise and spike of your breath. Figures and pas-de-bourrés, what elegance and extravagance, my mouth watering for bread, for energy, for a little taste of wine. You’ve been blessed before. The wrinkle between the corner of your eye and the curve of your brow tells me you still are. Watch with envy. Remarkable, almost, that the weak muscles in your calves are capable of this brand of mischief. It’s your emerald eyes. Ghost of a sigh against a deaf ear.
V. for Andrew Bird’s “Down Under the Hyperion Bridge”
And now, everything is still. And now, it’s time to sleep. Each ligament rushing to freeze and you blink your gaze to the western sky. You love when you hear them sing. They say your ancestors stand behind you and you have to wonder if their hands rest on your shoulders. In circles, in spheres, in the click of a rapid pulse, and the way your eyes begin to water all in one sitting. Because you’re not sad. You just are. Jaws unclench. How delicate all of us truly are. It’s a fact to be embraced, each goosebump tickled with the smallest of kisses. Have you always prevailed like this? I’m sure, I’m certain, as the sun peeks out the smallest of whispers. Your footsteps have touched these steps before.
Grace Yannotta is a freshman at UNC, double majoring in English and History. She has work published or forthcoming in Parhelion Lit, The Stay Project, Pider Mag,Rabid Oak, Mojave Heart Review, and Rise Up Review, among others. You can find her on Twitter @lgyanno.