La Pianista


She doesn’t play. She sings through her fingers, every calloused terrace of their unique loops opening to let a voice that carries blood and pain and practice splatter onto the blankness of our evenings after dinner. The keys stay white as empty plates, but the color in her cheeks paints the closing day like the prelude to a dream.

She doesn’t play but joys, withers, battles, dies, rebirths herself from ice sculpted into the flaming pyres of the women inscribed in her irises’ ancestral wetlands.

She doesn’t play but explodes

as fireworks traveling back in time to fritz Schoenberg’s hair with a crown of purple hail; she doesn’t hit the notes

but delves them out of the earthen breast of a forgotten richness

using her bare fingernails to scrape out the miscarriaged seeds so the song’s iron core can burn through the clean crevasses of the stones’ tones;

she doesn’t follow the rhythms but leads them

up a lantern staircase to the open rose of a sky-tower where she throws them back

into the sea, weighted with kisses that their feathered syncopations carry from island to island, connecting math and language and that which cannot be worded

by star-pale links that fade as soon as the next wave breaks.


She doesn’t play. She engulfs, drowns, dragon-stones, shatters and glues

with the paste of flowers’ sighs, breathes fire and gravity, pitter-patters

over rainforests, dervishes amidst Parisian rainboots, whips the dried salt lakes into luscious cream cakes on the midwestern states’ chapped palms.

She doesn’t play but lives

every drop out of music until it is no longer ink on paper, but seasons all over her and dripping invisibly, a soup of colors and wonderings onto the carpet

and even the dog leaves a clear berth for the unstain

while tracking mud or scooting. And all of a sudden

one day for no reason

other than the sun rising and setting itself

on a certain secret schedule – and all of a sudden

one day

she doesn’t play



Image credits in order of appearance:

By Carl Larsson –, or, Public Domain,

By Eugène Delabarre (1865-1934) – Salon de 1901, Public Domain,

By Leslie Seaton from Seattle, WA, USA – Calendula, CC BY 2.0,


2 thoughts on “La Pianista

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