I once played The Wild Horseman on
the used piano my mother
bought for my lessons.
But didn’t like my teacher so
I quit before I could play as well
as she did.
It was an upright piano. Used. We
signed it inside the cover, back of where
you place your music.
That piano moved three times. From
the upstairs flat n Calvert, to the house
on Oregon and
back upstairs to the flat on Fairfield.
They left it there when my grandparents
died and they moved 300 miles
away.
Decades later my grown son and
a friend went
exploring the house on Oregon, missing half
the roof, doors boarded up or
boards torn
off.
They found
an abandoned piano in
the wreckage. It wasn’t ours though.
Someone else
had moved on and left it
behind.
I love the the pacing of this poem and the way the story comes full circle back to the abandoned piano!
Thanks. I was surprised to see a piano had been left in that wreck of a house when they showed me the photos.
This is a very nice story in poem form.
What fun! A real narrative – curious how you might react to mine, which was far less concrete. But what a compelling image – just HAD to write to it, as did you. Thank you!!