2009-06-10
- 1:16 a.m.
Three Movements For a PianoI
The piano sat unplayed
next to the window.
She dusted it carefully
ever Saturday; soft swirls
that caressed keys.
The dust moved would fly
into the sunlight, dancing
to unheard melodies,
waltzing on the breeze.
II
He did not communicate well.
The easy words did not come
so easy. Sad, angry, hurt
he could not express.
She learned to tell
how his day went by the way
he played.
Those slow, deep songs
were his love for her.
III
After the cancer struck
days would go by between songs.
He could not sit up on Tuesday,
Wednesday he was at the hospital,
Thursday at midnight she woke
to an old hymn his grandmother
played Sundays when he once went to church.
She cried into his pillow.
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