Piano

She walked through the shafts of dusty light

And lifted the lid on the old black piano

Severe of face, each hair disciplined

I groaned

Thinking of those teachers, though competent

Who purge passion from their music

Like a nun might deal with lust

The chapel breathed as she began to play

At first the notes came gently

Like tiny drops of rain

Chords rose and fell

Melody more implied than present, but no less beautiful

The yellow of the place with its peeling paint

Became sepia with the sound of it

Then, almost against my will

I started to sing