The Piano
Since I was five, that piano has been sitting
There,
Somewhere, within my reach.
That reach has grown with me,
From tiny hands that could only span a fifth
To still-small hands able to sound an octave plus one.
Old red vinyl 78?s attest to early achievements
Of the six-year-old.
Music books, worn, dog-eared, carefully saved,
Evoke memories of teachers? hands,
Some gentle, with fascinating age spots,
Some harsh, holding a ruler.
A piano full of memories
Of the furious poundings of a teenager
Releasing anger and frustration;
Of dreamy sonatas of a young girl in love;
Of playing duets with a brother;
Of clanking out Christmas carols
For family sing-a-longs;
Of playing in Sunday school for peers,
With trembling fingers and thumping heart,
Afraid of fumbling and suffering laughter.
Professor Hernandes, where are you?
How gently you led your flock of gangling,
Struggling, fledgling musicians.
You took us into your home and heart-
We were family.
Beloved piano, in your scratched and dented surface,
You tell of many moves,
Of phases of life both happy and sad.
You sit now,
Waiting for me to find you again.
Janis Erwin