rosepoems

The air in the room was old
like it had been resting there
unmoving and patient
for the past 75 years, waiting for someone
to breath it.

And I didn’t want to breathe it,
but that really was not an option.

And I sat at the piano and smiled
at the lady in the glasses
who was as old as the air
and probably just as stiff.

And she nodded, and nodded.
And I smiled and smiled.
And then remembered I was supposed to play
a Sonata,
but the air was so old
and the keys were so sticky and yellowed.

The air parted its lips, urging me to play
Or maybe it was the lady.
And the keys I had played for 5 years, or so
on my piano at home
looked foreign
And the Sonata I had learned 6 months ago
and practiced and practiced daily
lingered in front of me on the white pages.
And as I pressed the first chord
firmly into the keys
I heard a sound pierce the old air
sending it scurrying away
and then I heard the same foreign sound
coming from my fingertips
And I realized I had forgotten
my entire Sonata.