Fuck / Symphonies

by Inua Ellams

after Beethoven
for Zahzee

Months from now it will happen again / in gin-and-juice loose-tongued-stupor / I’ll be like fuck classical music / fuck those elitist dudes in dark suits / there’s nothing I haven’t seen J Dilla do / that dude with a MIDI and a Mac composed the whole world right on wax / and I will forget

this analogue afternoon / the radio’s dial snagging a whole sunrise / or what one must certainly sound like / Earth glowing up awake / coming into its own bloom of airwaves / of warmth and amber / of booming horizons / horn / bassoon and oboes / tugging the dawn’s ochre aura over leafy-headed forests / down noble brows of bush / brave bark / soft moss and root / to subterranean bedrock of bones and blues / and threading through this / a piano line / like a girl reborn as bird / her bright persistent spirit / flitting with the flute’s lilting limber / I reached to spin that radio’s dial but she had got to me / had me hooked in / to the orchestra / the symphony / the pit / with its wise wood and windy ways / the oak and gold / the whole world of her held me in its holy mouth / in its halting time / had me lifted / from the tight urban gloom / into a light filled with room / into a room filled with light