Being Piano

October 29, 2008
By Ciera Sugden, Portage, WI

The sun shines off of my
Crème, cold keys this morning,
And my black body basks in the light,
Warming me, all the way down to my feet.
My master walks in the room,
His slippers sliding along the wooden floor.
His frail fingers glide over me,
And I’m happy,
In my favorite place,
Where I am showing my friend youth and music.
My song fills the room,
But then he leaves all too soon.
Abandoned,
My keys are still warm from Master’s touch.
It is as it is every day,
And has been for eighty years.
I’m left wondering where he goes
As I cannot follow.
Now the sun sets and my large, curved body
Shadows all else around me.
Missing the presence of my best friend’s hands,
Once smooth, now wrinkly with age,
I shut my eyelid,
And sleep.



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