In a Room Full of Pianos

you and i ran into each other in mexico by accident.

it had been years since i'd seen you,
the remains of your hair were gray
while mine were concealed with clairol.
it was outside the elevator you saw me
you kissed the cheek of my tanned skin and
i smiled at the fact it took less than a moment for you to recognize me.

we stepped into the elevator together,
i whispered in your ear, shyly, that i thought you looked nice
still distinctive. your grey, ironic sweatsuit made you look younger
than the other men standing beside us dressed in coat and ties.
our pleasure coaxed their business, inquiring minds wanted to know
who is that woman standing with you, sir,
and you quipped that i was your sister.

we stepped off, onto shiny white linoleum floor
our heels hitting it with a staccatoed rhythm
while the scent of espresso came from a cappuccino maker.
it explored our noses, it worked like a magnet between us and
i smiled as i buried my face in your upper arm,
hearing the lush whispers of resort couples sitting on couches
basking in the sunshine and the lull of the ocean outside
beckoning from the wall-sized window,
in this room full of baby grand pianos.

"pick one," i whispered. "play for me.
they won't mind as long as you're good."
and you knew you were good, you were always good.
i loved the way you took a seat like it was the first time
with one the color of cream, i knew what you were thinking.
Your face faked alienation,
pretending to be Larry David at a piano lesson,
knowing the people nearby would stop mid-sentence,
and flash us dirty looks all too credulously.
you placed your fingers on the keys,
then secretly glanced up at me
winking at the beginning of a haunting melody
that made my bones ache

i remember resting my arms on the velvet sofa
facing you while you played the song so delicately.
(and pardon the cliche but you could've heard a pin drop on the linoleum floor.)
i remember thinking,
All my life I've always wanted to be touched by a pianist
but wondering why you never occurred to me when I had those desires.
Maybe it's because you were always too busy embracing other things
whether it was steering wheels, other women
pulling you in the opposite direction
our lives like secrets never told to one another
like my graying hair or the fact you wore sweatsuits to Mexico,
intricacies we'd never waste our time describing because we never had the time.
And this time, you did not rush the song, i coiled around each key
like holding chocolate on my tongue and letting it melt on its own,
you, playing that arrangement, for me
as though you had all the time in the world
then i wondered if this encounter in Mexico really was by accident.














i love dreams like these, such a sweet escape.