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The Conductor
She traps all the air
Inside the clarinets
Filling every mental note
With hot, humid dread
Then plucks on my nerves
Like strings on a violin
Conscious of each break,
Bitter twist, and each bend
I’m sweating through my body
the brass becomes red
She pokes into the smallest tubes
The cracks and crevices
Till trumpets overflow
And spit valves burst open
I cannot bear the pain
I will not play again
And when the orchestra
Is done, finished
The cymbals bang
The Conductor flourishes
I look to the floor
The rest of our time
She steps out the room
All I want to do is cry
But next week she conducts again.
PAULINE AKSAY is a storyteller based in Toronto, Canada. She has experience in writing poetry, digital animation, and in illustrating children’s books, and has previously received two artist’s grants to write, illustrate and self-publish two children’s stories. Aksay’s work explores mental health, perception, imagination, and the limits of memory, offering an evocative glimpse into the human experience from the eyes of an outsider. She aspires to promote the emotional intelligence, compassion, and understanding in the people who engage with her work. You can find her at www.akpaillustration.com.