Piano Lesson by Vivian Tsai
I don’t go to the funeral. The first
day, the bench is new and I break
the left pedal, my hands suddenly cold
though you say they won’t notice.
A week later we fall to the carpet,
limbs unraveling like keyboard cloth—
red folds, con affetto—
the first time you opened the lid.
I look up and see the piano’s underbelly,
soak in wooden beams as if praying
at a cathedral. Our hands are touching,
bodies pulsing andante, like rests.
Today, I lie under the abdomen
of a different piano, one that’s not yours,
and you lie under wood marked dolente,
calando:
your silence leaves me crying
in keys I’ve forgotten how to play
Vivian Tsai lives in Baltimore, where she studies computer science and math by day and writes by night. She spends her free time collecting books, solving puzzles, and sending snail mail.
Perrin Clore Duncan, from Oklahoma, graduated from DePauw University in May 2017 with a B.A. in Economics and Studio Art. Her work has been shown and published in Ireland, the United States, and worldwide through online publications. Perrin currently pursues her M.F.A. at the Burren College of Art in Ireland.
Visit her on instagram at @perrincloreduncan.art or at her WEBSITE.
Visit her on instagram at @perrincloreduncan.art or at her WEBSITE.