Piano
For Karalyn
An instrument of chipping glaze and dried wood rest in a corner.
Though it is seldom played in present years,
the wear of glee’s remnants tint the Piano in a bitter-sweet melancholy.
Dust glides through the air, drifting in a stagnant puddle
The open window disturbs it’s peace, breathing the airs in an out.
tasting only the dust of history.
The swirling mahogany frame darkens with the fleeting evening sun
The fading light glints off the cracked keys,
showing where the finish fights to cling to ebony.
Classical buttons, timelessly pressed
Keys, and, where one would press them,
Stains of grease splotch the surface.
Petals with a use unlike a retired pick-up truck,
Petals, and, where one would press them,
the leather has thinned and torn
Mute sheets of code move slightly when a breeze comes through,
though no one will translate them,
because this piano is out of tune.
(2012)
Another older poem, this one from the beginning of Freshman year. I wrote this in honor of my good friend, pianist and composer, Karalyn as well as in honor of the contributions the piano has made to my culture as a whole.
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