The Piano

November 4, 2011
By mariahollis GOLD, Plainsboro, New Jersey
mariahollis GOLD, Plainsboro, New Jersey
10 articles 0 photos 3 comments

I remember when my mother
played the piano.
She could play it the way light bounces off a chandelier.
Notes climbed up the stairs and swayed through the pipes
their footsteps unmuffled and their songs bright.
I remember when we bought that piano.
It was a great gleaming beast, thick with gloss.
There was music inside of it,
as sure as the gold-tinged strings and hammers
that my mother lifted me up to see.
She hasn't played the piano in a long time.
It stands, shut up and rigid
gray with dust.
The only thing it's used for is a bookshelf.
We don't notice it anymore.
Sometimes I wish I could open it up again
let out the music, dust off the keys,
make it black and proud and glistening.
But I never learned
how to play the piano.



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This article has 2 comments.


on Dec. 20 2011 at 3:50 pm
BlackPhoenix GOLD, North Bennington, Vermont
16 articles 0 photos 9 comments
it paints a powerfull image, and a sad one of growing up.

on Nov. 14 2011 at 10:59 pm
RainOnMyWindowpane SILVER, Sacramento, California
5 articles 0 photos 8 comments

Favorite Quote:
The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls. - Pablo Picasso

This is a beautiful piece of writing. I love your metaphors and the way you strung each line into the next.


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