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Music
May 25, 2017
A piano student
always ambling for a challenge
to perfect,
I found you
scribbled on the back
of a letter in the trash;
Your notes were dark,
sharp, a sight to behold
for one such as I.
I propped you up
on my oak piano,
ran my fingers across the
delicate ivory,
and began to play.
How I drove myself wild!
trying to perfect your harmonies,
blistering my fingers,
and clouding the hours
with the foggy image of you.
If only I'd known then
that you were never,
truly, meant
to be played.
Maybe I wouldn't have made you so beautiful.
© Kimberly C., Houston, TX
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