the ice piano
it's wednesday night
the end of january
i just got off of work
& i'm standing outside
of an old brick building
trying to stay out of the wind
i don't want to go home yet
i'm sad & restless
i notice the side door has a sign:
under construction/entrance closed
next to the door is an old piano
an upright w/ one leg broken off
the keys are covered w/ icy snow
i take the leg w/ a rusty screw sticking out
of it & try to scrape
some snow off of the keys
some are flattened down, frozen
some are up but make no sound
even when i press down on them
some i lift with a cold finger
& push down
& they release beautiful notes
into the quiet night
the last two keys at the right end sound
like icicles falling & breaking
the first key at the opposite end
hums deep
i imagine footsteps or the door suddenly
opening
but nobody arrives
i keep knocking snow off the keys
trying to revive them
i don't want to go home just yet
there is this ice piano to play
& the winter stars are out
_
Rob Plath is a prolific writer and Literary Editor for The Commonline Journal. He is the author of eight chapbooks and three full-length poetry collections. His novel Swallowtude (2016) and his poetry collection The Skeleton Sutras (2016) are both forthcoming from Epic Rites Press. His webpage is www.robplath.com.
it's wednesday night
the end of january
i just got off of work
& i'm standing outside
of an old brick building
trying to stay out of the wind
i don't want to go home yet
i'm sad & restless
i notice the side door has a sign:
under construction/entrance closed
next to the door is an old piano
an upright w/ one leg broken off
the keys are covered w/ icy snow
i take the leg w/ a rusty screw sticking out
of it & try to scrape
some snow off of the keys
some are flattened down, frozen
some are up but make no sound
even when i press down on them
some i lift with a cold finger
& push down
& they release beautiful notes
into the quiet night
the last two keys at the right end sound
like icicles falling & breaking
the first key at the opposite end
hums deep
i imagine footsteps or the door suddenly
opening
but nobody arrives
i keep knocking snow off the keys
trying to revive them
i don't want to go home just yet
there is this ice piano to play
& the winter stars are out
_
