Ivory

I played her until my right wrist hurt
All my soul spread across the musical chess board.
With anything but mathematical logic I cornered cords,
Forcing the triads, and dissonant melodies to converse,
Inaudible language made from audible notes—
The piano full of 88 friends; I passed soul’s loose leaf,
Hoping that no one of consequence could see.

She is my old friend
Fingerprints of friendship painted on her ivory skin:
Originated in sticky little girl fingers, unwashed, wild,
Then in adolescence’s tear-touched thumbs,
That played with her, because all else refused.
She was constant, responding always in love,
Never remembering hasty mistakes,
Adoration coming in practiced companionship.

I had moved on
Leaving her stringed soul for others to love
Yet, she imprinted on me eternally
Giving me her off-white hue as proof:
Her music resides in my soul.
Who could dispute her love?
As I touched her keys, I finally understood
It was she that touched me.

~DaLe 08.26.09