artwork: ralph murre
Piano Overture
by
Marilyn L. Taylor
He came to our apartment twice a year
to
tune my mother’s piano. All day long
we
tiptoed, trying not to interfere
with
what to us were strange, unearthly songs.
He
never struck a heavy, luscious chord—
only
fifths, fourths, octaves—clean and spare;
brandishing
his hammer like a sword,
we
watched him wring concordance from the air.
Taut
as pulled wire, he’d lean into the keys,
his
practiced fingers pressing note on note,
hunting
down aberrant harmonies
and
any latent quaver in the throat.
At
last the piano, gaping and undone,
its
very heart exposed for all to see,
would
wait in silence, chastened as a nun,
for
the blasphemies of Chopin and Satie.
~
Previously published in Shadows Like
These
(William Caxton Ltd.)
