I have a piano in my living room. When you have a piano, someone will almost always ask, “who plays?” It is my piano, a gift from my parents which I’ve never understood. I’d long since given up playing, much less practicing, so I’m not sure if they were h
unplayed, out of tune-
a horizontal shelf
for candles and trinkets.
Once it lived in Georgia,
a gift brimming with possibility
for one they saw
but never truly understood.
The girl, a teenager then,
had turned from practicing
towards passions
more in line with who she was becoming.
Is there regret?
Perhaps a touch.
She was never meant
to be a pianist.
She was destined instead
for a life tuned to people-
reading emotions, not music-
a symphony of voices.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Read 19 times
Written on 2025-06-29 at 18:34
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Fine-Tuned
The piano sits-unplayed, out of tune-
a horizontal shelf
for candles and trinkets.
Once it lived in Georgia,
a gift brimming with possibility
for one they saw
but never truly understood.
The girl, a teenager then,
had turned from practicing
towards passions
more in line with who she was becoming.
Is there regret?
Perhaps a touch.
She was never meant
to be a pianist.
She was destined instead
for a life tuned to people-
reading emotions, not music-
a symphony of voices.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Read 19 times
Written on 2025-06-29 at 18:34
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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