May
May.
She can play piano like an angel,
like Calliope in her song.
I watch my daughter’s fingers
glide across the piano, trying
to imitate May in erratic vain
until I sigh tiredly and rise.
I cross the lounge to the
kitchen. I braid my fingers in dough,
and it feels like May’s hair,
ebony, silk. I turn on the oven and
close my eyes, listening to my
daughter’s song, striving to repress
those variable notes, those
headaches from too much coffee.
When I return, the piano is a
black carnation in the jungle.
It is night, and I press a thick
black key on the piano. The
grasshoppers start to chirp
and I begin to cry. The black
keys are the strands in May’s hair.
My daughter watches from the stairs.
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139,468 Literary Works • 672,573 Reviews
'Lo there, Gadi.
Ta,
Cal.
Mistakes here and there. Also I didn't really grasp the concept. The whole thing overall...It was just confusing. Sorry. Please PM me when it's redone.
D7M
I don't fully understand why you've split the lines the way you have, but I like it. I have to agree the break between the first and second paragraph is a little awkward.
At first this seems like a random story, but the final line pulls it all together, and like the way it's the only line that rymes too, that has a great effect.
I understand the theme of this whole poem, but I don't fully understand who May is. Is she a student of the mother, a friend or child in her care? Why does the mother cry? It doesn't seem clear, though maybe that's just me.
I also like the way you've made two references to May's hair being black, it gives enough detail to picture her playing the piano, without revealing her face.
This is a really interesting poem, keep up the good work. Kudos.
Interesting! Skipping from the first paragraph to the second paragraph is awkward though.