Annie has that violin around the neck
like she’s trying to breathe life into it.
She barely has to put out effort to make it come alive, to make it sing.
In the back row, a nameless girl slumps over her instrument.
She is no Annie, her hair is not wild and red,
and she does not close her eyes as she plays the solo part.
I am not that girl,
but I could be.
I am in the audience, watching Annie, watching her
sing and arch her back in her beauty.
Her brother plays alongside her, with equal skill.
They are the eye of this storm.
They deserve their glory.
I am watching a movie in Mandarin Chinese, and they are in love.
Maybe they are happy, but I’m only reading expressions, the obvious.
I do not speak the language.
Annie, I do not speak your language.
It breaks my heart.