An Ode to My Piano
The shining black paint scratched off of you, I know,
Years have not been so nice to you.
But the gold-plated, gliding writing
Is still the queen of the night, don’t you worry.
Your rusted copper candleholders
Are the perfect dress
For the long, bright bubblegum red candles
Whose smells do not ever fade away.
I know the notes you play- DO, RE, MI, FA-coming-SI, DO again!
Aren’t just melodies from the fingers of Chopin.
Your voice, a diary:
For a thousand memories
From the fingers that touched your keys:
Folded sheet music as pencils,
Ebony and ivory as paper
Stories written on the pages
As swirling, twirling, mesmerizing melodies.
I have never known anyone whom
A tuxedo suits
Better than it suits
I wrote this poem to one of my favorite objects; one that I can't imagine my life without: my piano. It has been used by my mother and also her mother before so now it's pretty old.