she is touching the keys of the piano like
a long-lost lover,
kneading edges soft and strong,
skin raw from love and lust.
she cradles every note like a child,
trying to drink up
the melodies like 5-ounce glasses of vodka.
tilts her head back,
gasps immeasurably and
the notes follow her breath.
they try to fill her up but empty wheezes
don’t hold any love.
she persists, and the melody sings gentler,
more free,
ethereal beauty.
for a moment the red on her wrists are paintings,
the purple on her back turn into sunsets.
she is smiling.
the notes sing out, fleeting, sparkling.
just for one moment–
until she is hitting the piano once again,
smashing every note like the
child frozen in her womb
glassy-eyed and dead,
imitating the baby
so she can understand.
she is holding her belly in pain,
partly emotionally
partly in hunger.
she did not have dinner because
they say you are what you eat
and all she wanted was
to be this melody that
she was trying so hard to swallow–
the harmony sounded like happiness.