Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Pallid Piano

Her mind kept time like a metronome.
Regulating the timid tempo of life, cautiously
She perched on sleek and silent keys
Fingers, fixated and frail,
Primed to set her lily white world ablaze.

Her chestnut hair whispered
At the nape of her neck.
Exposed by the deep simplistic V of a snowy silk dress,
Her spine, properly postured and pained,
Protruded from her portrait.

I was enslaved by the painting.
Compelled to follow its frame
Flecked in gold when struck by light,
I could not see her face, still cannot see her face.
I assumed hers is that of my mother’s.

My mischievous mind could not keep time.
Disarranging the timid tempo of life, ungracefully
I perched on sleek and silent keys
Fingers, scattered and strong,
Primed to set my lily white world ablaze,
And under my mother’s gaze I was told to begin.

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