Bête noire
best friend
therapist
curse and godsend.
This clumsy chunk of wood and wire
monument to stubbornness
taught me to be
Queen of Stubborn
immovably
patient and impatient.
I had an itch
way deep
that made me touch the keys.
I had to play.
I cannot remember life without a piano
this love-hate relationship that coddled my inwardness
yet insisted the music go outward
so how can I think of life without it ?
No inanimate object, this,
but a being with breath
spirit
a forgiving affection for me.
Is it disappointed?
I was never great
but I was good.
More, I entered in to a human thing
the thing with music
where
maybe
we all itch.
Is it
finally
gone?
Is it time to send this
wooden person
to the heap of my past
with dolls
and love letters?
Oddments 
October 11, 2016 at 11:38 am
Heavens, no, if you can play that beautiful piano. I don’t have a musical bone in my body so I stick to ‘listening’ to music. 🙂
October 11, 2016 at 1:11 pm
I think the need to listen to music is part of that itch. Real listening to music is mysteriously part of the performance of it — at least that’s the way I think of it. My playing these days is so pitiful that I have entered into this debate with myself. Is this still a wonderful musical instrument or just a vast behemoth that requires its own room? Back and forth I go. Thanks for your response!