Another Saturday in CinCity

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Piano
by Patrick Phillips



Touched by your goodness, I am like
that grand piano we found one night on Willoughby
that someone had smashed and somehow
heaved through an open window.

And you might think by this I mean I'm broken
or abandoned, or unloved. Truth is, I don't
know exactly what I am, any more
than the wreckage in the alley knows
it's a piano, filling with trash and yellow leaves.

Maybe I'm all that's left of what I was.
But touching me, I know, you are the good
breeze blowing across its rusted strings.

What would you call that feeling when the wood,
even with its cracked harp, starts to sing?

Comments

  1. Minnesota MatronDecember 3, 2008 at 8:00 PM

    Oh, honey. Sorry about the death. The Matron is all light and fluff, but honestly? Ever since reading Ernest Becker's The Denial of Death at age 20, she understands hers is coming. Shapes everything.

    ReplyDelete
  2. AnonymousDecember 4, 2008 at 6:26 PM

    I will focus on what it is like to be touched by goodness and not how it is something that once made music lands abandoned in an alley.

    ReplyDelete

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Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)

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