The Piano with 86 Keys

I held your hand

like you

once held mine

slowly slipping away

Forever

Letting go

The wren's warble wobbles

As I play my piano for you

With your picture on it

And two broken keys

When I say I remember

Will they say I'm living in the past?

I remember

the time I was three

I ran into the wall

With a clunk

Forehead first

Excited to see my brother

Taken to the hospital

And placed under a white sheet

Shaking trembling

without a doctor's word

three stitches and a small scar

and a memory of your comfort

They look at my reflection behind mirrors

And try to see what you saw

I woke up and wondered

What has become of me?

Can I still feel your faith?

Even beyond the sadness?

We did

An 180 degree spin in

the Pinto with a stick and stereo

On the way home

From piano lessons

I never once worried

I marveled at how

You adapted from

A Clint Eastwood world

To the world wide web

The children's laughter

Echo as your computer shuts down

At a restaurant

On one of your last times out

Last time around the lake

The waitress told me

What a sweet person you were

Beyond the smile

I bought some groceries

Garbage bags in a box of 60

One a week

and I realized

You'd be gone by the time

They ran out

Difference between Fahrenheit and Celsius

One of many lessons you passed on

Then for conversation I asked you

the formula, the one your mentor taught

Frustrated that you couldn't recall

Your mind might have failed but I'll remember

A candle that flickers low

A gentle softness that muffles the sobs

The faraway look in your eyes

If you could see me now

The cyclamen dream I'm accomplishing

Sad at the familiar self-destruction

You used to sew my pants

Because I'm too short, a black dress pair

Worn when you're too weak to stand

And you told me I looked nice

In the pants you didn't recall

The ones I wore to your funeral

Purposeless words

I dare to share

None of them seem to matter

They tell me time heals all wounds

And even the grief one day will pass

But I miss you more with each passing thought

Now the wren is far too silent

With a solitude of a feather afloat

And I try to use the voice

That used to make you laugh

But the faithful laugh isn't there

And neither is my cracking voice