I Can't Play the Piano (JG)

In the living room 

a piano sits like 

some lost soul 

waiting for illumination 

or motion or a simple hand 

ready to move along the keys 

that will unlock its life 

and play the music

 waiting like spring inside it.  


I’m not the one who can do that.  

My fingers are knots that only know 

how to tremble and scratch 

and point to something 

that needs to be lifted 

by someone younger 

and stronger than me.


If I were looking for metaphors, 

I would say the waiting piano 

is just someone like me, 

but I’m not looking for metaphors.


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