An Ode to My PianoThe shining black paint scratched off of
you,
I know,
Years have not been so nice to you. But the gold-plated, gliding writing “Pianoforte” 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, 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 You. 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. |