Faces at the window
They must be having fun down there,
Sarah sucking on all three colors
of her lollipop & Bruno looping out
his spinning top. Their laughter
rises up to slowly torture me.
They must be having fun. Yes,
Mother, I'm practicing my scales.
With Bruno gone years in the war
& Sara lost over in America,
I've counted the green leap years.
Now the concert hall is filling up,
awaiting the prodigy to play rain
on a zinc roof. I'm in the first row
before I step out into the evening.
Those fingers on the keys unknot
my stiches. I knew all the notes
before a sparrow was condemned
to sing in the eaves. I stand here
motionless, clearly nothing but
a silhouette gazing at a ball
boucing on the sidewalk.
He must be having fun. My days
justa a touch-up of muted hues
& forgotten cadenzas. Somebody
please remember me. Sarah,
wherever you are, I hope
you're having fun. Haha
still runs past my window.
down the hill. The dead live
across the street, up & down
our block. Oh, well, yes,
the piano,. That's my son,
federico, named after a great
Spanish poet, playing the keys
low as wind through blood weed.
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