Olives: Poems

Listening to Peter and the Wolf with Jason, Aged Three

62 Listening to Peter and the Wolf with Jason, Aged Three Eyes wide open, grinning ear to ear, Balanced between the thrill of fear and fear, He clutches at my skirt to keep me near And will not let me leave him by himself In the living room where Peter and the Wolf Emerges from the speakers on the shelf. He likes Peter’s jaunty swing of strings, The reedy waddle of the duck, the wings That flute up in the tree, but still he clings, (Even though for now it’s just the cat Picking its sneaky way through sharp and flat); He isn’t frightened of a clarinet, And laughs at Grandfather’s bluster and bassoon, But keeps his ear out for another tune At the shadowy edge of the wood, and coming soon. Where is the wolf? he asks me every chance He gets, and I explain each circumstance; Though it’s not as if he’s heard it only once— You’d think he’d know by now. Deep in the wood, Or under the tree, or sent away for good To the zoo, I say, and think he’s understood, And weary of the question and the classic, I ask him where the wolf is. With grave logic He answers me, “The wolf is in the music.” 63 And so it is. Just then, out of the gloom The cymbal menaces, the French horns loom. And the music is loose. The music’s in the room. ...