Poetry: How I Came To Drink My Grandmother’s Piano

How I Came To Drink My Grand­moth­er’s Piano

by Kath­leen Norris

It has to do with giving,
and with let­ting go,
with how the earth rotates
on its axis
to make an oblate spheroid.

It has to do
with how it all comes ’round.

There was a piano
in my grand­moth­er’s house.
I inher­it­ed it,
but nev­er learned to play.
I used it as a bookshelf
and dust collector
and final­ly gave it to a church up the street.

I was snowed in at a trail­er house
in Regent, North Dakota,
when Rita offered me a glass
of dan­de­lion wine.
“That’s some glass,” I said,
much too fan­cy for our thrown-togeth­er meal
of ham­burg­ers and fried potatoes.
“Yes, isn’t it?” she replied,
fin­ger­ing the glass pattern.
“A friend gave it to me.
Some­one had giv­en it to her,
but she nev­er used it.”

I began to hear that piano
as Rita poured the wine.
The dan­de­lions spun around:
glad to be yel­low again,
glad to be free of the dark.

Cyn is a proud Mommy & Mémé, professional geek, avid reader, fledgling coder, enthusiastic gamer (TTRPGs), occasional singer, and devoted stitcher.
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