Piano
She touched a stuffed animal zebra a lot. The juxtaposition in her mind between keys and stripes amused her. Can’t have what you can’t afford. Can’t bring in what doesn’t fit and everyone had to understand that coming out of the womb, she thought “then why am I here?” It’s a black and white thing. Grey doesn’t fit. It is all about size and location. Her dad drank Southern Comfort in the awkward North West corridor of the two bed apartment where water damaged caused the concrete to chip. He listened to Simple Man and she listened to the piano solo. Black bottles become clear after a while and white teeth rust. Keys scratch and cheeks bruise. Her neighbor had a book about the Mafia. They used piano wire to garrote canaries because caged birds sing; making music is damnable. Piano wire doesn’t splinter. She walked into her school in the basement. Music room was the size of the janitors closet. They had a piano that was sublime in the middle rubble. All she could say was, “how the fuck did that fit in here”.
(2014)
