Mary’s Memory

Her silver hair
Illuminated the room
As her fingers
Swam across the piano keys

“Come here, little boy”
She said to my sister
“I want to teach you
How to play.”

They sat down together
On the wooden stool
And the ninety-year-old woman
Played like she was twenty

She doesn’t know who she is
Where she came from
Or even what year it is

All she remembers
Are those black and white bars
And the beautiful sounds
That they make