Dear Piano,

I used to visit you every afternoon.
The hours we spent were sometimes frustrating,
But earnest in their striving.
Driven by dreams,
          I was young then.
Your response to my fingers was bliss.

Touch was a teacher of gentleness,
Of ferocity.
Weighted fingers from forearms or back
Lyrical caresses and sonorous pinched chords
          I loved the fire you stirred.
Thank you for teaching me that patterns
are beautiful.

Your black and white keys, so familiar,
remind me to use their pattern to safely navigate
the length, breadth, width, and height.
They give me a place to start
          Can I find you again?
Seated on the bench before you.

In my mind, I can hear the faint sounds we used
to make.
Music scored with memories of my lifetime.
My fingers feel the keys without touching them.
          Are you waiting for me?
I used to play you to please others.
Now, I have learned I must play first for myself.

I miss you.

A place for teacher-writers.

8 thoughts on “Dear Piano

    1. Thank you Cindy! I appreciate your feedback. Music does get attached to so many memories! I think you have written about that, too, if I remember correctly. Happy Spring Break!

  1. Such a lovely letter to an object I know you love. You included perfect details allowing the reader to sense how much you like playing. I also hope you can return to it.

  2. I don’t know if you meant for this, but this is a beautiful ode. I have this down to use during my Patchwork Poetry project and I have printed this off to use as a mentor. There is so much we learn from creativity, whether it is writing, art, or music. I hope you find that love and passion again!

  3. I read this awhile ago and had to come back to comment. What stayed with me was the physicality here. Whether gentle or ferocious, your movement in your hands comes from your back. The keys are physical to you; you make us. Feel their dimensionality. For me, all this adds strength to your lovely homage, adds weight and grounding.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s