John Romagna

Adagio for Strings
(For My Father)

What were you trying to tell me
Moments before you died, raising one hand
In front of you?

There’s a child who is here for the first time
Thinking balcony lights are dim stars,
Admiring the white baton,
The long bows
Moving in unison,

Cellists who play down fingerboards
As though their hands would cross a shallow river
Rock by rock.

You brought me here, so I’d be passionate
About what I do, my days
Like the purposeful moments
Of this audience,
Listening.

Conductor, moving his arms in a wide circle.
I can never tell whether he’s keeping time.
Making a fist, he indicates a downbeat:
Drums are not played;
Cymbals are untouched;
Trumpet players wait.

Do these musicians follow his lead?
Or do they hold themselves together
Like the sea?

Maestro, pausing hands,
Invoking silence. Father, you are the music,
After it stops.

John Romagna lives in Clinton, NJ. His most recently published poem, Variation on a Poem by Yeats, was awarded Honorable Mention in the Passager Journal’s 2022 Anual Poetry Contest issue, September 2022.