Reunion

Stand up as the old girl is
Exhumed from the purgatory of storage,
Risen from some forgotten place.
Structurally strong,
An upright and modest display of
Teutonic artistry.

Marvel at the walnut wood of
Elaborately carved legs and unknown origins; In faded gold print you can read:C. Weidig.
Those letters were always
A mystery to me
When I was small.

An arpeggio of players,
Whose fingers have danced
Upon these keys,
Shared sparkling blue eyes,
Similar jaw lines and the mutual
Smile of a long line of noise-makers.

Long ago, a cliché I know,
I played The Rose as
Friends sang along,
Somehow this piano knew the truth,
Telling us tales handed down by the women Who came before.

From hymns to old war tunes,
Classical to the blues,
This old lady spoke all the languages of our Lives as we would tap, tap, tap away.
She was forgiving when we lost our way,
Like a mother’s unconditional love.

His eyes light up when the music arrives;
He plays with unselfconscious abandon.
Closing my eyes, I breathe in
Such happy noise- as he merrily works Ivories well-worn by me, my mother,
Her mother, her mother before her.

A wistful, unspoken dialogue and lineage Connects us all.
Beloved forebears may not hold this
Boy of mine in their arms and yet
Somehow they have met.
I sit down. Now, for a duet.