Martha Landman

That piano lived with me for fifteen years
a mute antique restored in rosewood case
travelled from house to house and overseas
an unperformed melody dusted out of tune

And now that I want to travel far and light
it’s best not to think about that piano carried
down heavy wooden stairs, fingers nearly
severed. The new owner just seven years old,

hears encores without practicing a note or scale.
And if that piano could speak a single word
it would tell me to paint the lounge room red
for every morning mourns that uncluttered space.