Understand Me
rigid and cold complicated to play
it smells like wood
when I tiptoe on the wooden floorboards
into your room
and I hope we don’t shout
the strings are broken and out of tune
it sounds like me
it sounds like you
pause
upstroke
downstroke
wrong
downstroke
upstroke
wrong again
but I played it right
but not perfect
carved delicately
the way you pose in a picture
erect posture
plastered smile
played perfect
the casing lined
with fur
the locks
secure
still that’s where it stayed
because no one’s played
like a car
only when it moves
it sounds
screeching when it moves fast
except this car has a flat tire
fur lined walls
looks off-white
when you squint really tight
leather
worse for wear
just like you
just like me
the horsehair loosened
on the bow that lacks rosin
sweet smelling
but it doesn’t taste sweet
downstroke
upstroke
wrong
again
why didn’t you play
that’s why the rosin
doesn’t taste sweet
bitter
words left unsaid
still no one played
it’s all a display
you hold it hostage
but you never listen
you never play
and that’s where it remained
leather worse for wear
locks secure
horsehair loose
it could be a noose
for there were things
bitter
left unsaid
Violin
ca. 1930
F. G. Vallance
Probably spruce wood and ebony
This violin was passed down to me from my mother, who herself received it as a gift from a friend. The body is likely made from spruce wood, and the pegs, fingerboard, and chin rest, from ebony. This object is a representation of my family’s history of migration. My mother’s family immigrated to America from Bangladesh when she was five years old. Growing up, she had very little, so this violin reminds me how privileged I was to have lessons and to play such an eloquent instrument.