She plays the piano.
It's not the one she learned on.
This one is of Cherry wood, an up-right.
With missing ivories and notes that won't play.
It's out of tune too.
But for the last ten years it's been her only hope.
It's her destination in the middle of the night,
when she can not sleep.
Playing softly, bits and pieces of songs thought forgotten.
She pounds on it when she's angry, and when she's happy.
But happy is all to infrequent.
The tears and the bleeding stomach are not.
She presses the keys so lovingly.
She is saying good bye.
One hundred dollars is all her dreams are worth,
The old dream, the child's wish.
She sells it to feed her family.
She sells her heart for us.
Her tears spill on the keys,
she closes the lid and wipes her face.
She tells herself there will be another piano.
