Corney Press

I am standing alone in front of the class.

“A little off pitch but good tonal quality, dear.” 

Mrs. Rignall, the music teacher, informs me.

I keep practicing 

Do- Re- Mi- Fa -So- La -Ti- Do and

try not to fidget, 

standing

first on one leg then another,

Imagine myself as a flamingo 

gingerly stepping on a muddy bank.

Pretending not to be nervous 

a fifteen-year-old 

super shy girl

with a giant zit on the tip of her nose.

Hoping no one will notice 

knowing everyone does.

I remember how to breathe  

through my diaphragm

and the words 

to the end of the song.

Shyness doesn’t run in the family. 

My Dad sang beautifully as a choirboy

Grandpa excelled as a musician and poet.

Hmm, maybe I can hum on key. 

2/7/26