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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The old upright piano sits flush against the wall, has been hushed into silence, out on the sun porch Ignored, neglected, but standing erect I can imagine it was treasured in its prime,..polished, stylish, and new But age has turned the varnish yellow The veneer a bit buckled, the bench has been repaired with clamps, screws, and Elmer’s wood glue A relic from another time. Songbooks are still cradled, but pedals are disabled. We can almost hear its breath exhale, with tinny-rhythmic sighs Two white keys might stick,...and three or four are chipped... And tears, chopsticks, hearts and souls were spilled on ivory seas If only clocks could turn back time Mother sitting next to me, side by side, ... our worlds aligned Keeping the rhythm, over and over, measure by measure, ... playing together the “The Blue Danube”. ___ With her hands over mine, pointing out the key of C And what I can still see,...so clear in my mind.., are the blue veins of her hands enveloping mine, leaning into the waltz, a bit off key (It needed tuning…It always did. Never mattered. Never will) I was small. My fingers couldn’t reach them all, those pock-marked, scarred, and magic keys But the measure of Johann Strauss would bounce off the walls… She would hum into my ear… Her soft brown hair would mix with mine I could smell Breck shampoo, and feel her breath upon my cheek And feel the music, soft and sweet, classic light…from that old Upright... A simple tune…the waltz of time that has played on and on... long beyond her life and will play on long beyond my own __________________________________________________________
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