October 2008  

The Cellist of Sarajevo    ©    by    Alice E. Johansen
 

At four in the afternoon, from his apartment window,
he saw the line of hungry people waiting
for bread at the only bakery that still had flour.
A single mortar shell exploded
in their midst, killing twenty-two.

He could absorb, endure, no more of war.

Next day, in formal concert black,
he carried his cello to the empty square,
placed his chair beside the crater.
He played to blood-stained walls
and sidewalks, to burned out buildings,
crumpled trucks, and terrified people
hiding in cellars.

For twenty-two days at four p.m. he played
Albinoni's Adagio in G minor,
a mournful melody for lost childhoods,
for compassion, for memories of the dead.

On the battlefield
that was his neighborhood,
he did the only thing he could do.
He drew his bow across taut strings.

Previously published in the North Carolina Poetry Society's
Pinesong: Awards 2008. Used with the poet's permission.
NOTICE: The copyright © for this poem belongs to the poet.