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My Mother's Piano I shut my eyes, and hear the close of a mahogany coffin. One barren breath- brings in the oil of yellow lemons that grace the lid of her baby grand. My arms tremble from the steady swirl the binding patina; her required finish. A wood-grained mirror displays the faces of lifeless relatives asleep in music when melody played and lived in the foyer. But I am alive in my mother’s piano, among bowed bodies, a family of ghosts. Yet no one knows my fiddle-back life my raindrop dream or how often I’m buried inside ©Carol Lynn Grellas |
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Carol Lynn Grellas is a Northern California-based writer, where she attended Santa Clara University as an English and Art major. Her Chapbook: Litany of Finger Prayers will be released in 2008 from Pudding House Press. |