She didn't care much
about the ruined stuffing
of the dead animal
Just the music box
exposed at its heart
like a cypher
of brass-colored keys
plinking away at itself
--a player piano* in someone's basement
to impress, entertain
less affluent
cocktail friends
Never took much
to sweep her away--
like the insides
of a music
box
resisting
curious fingers
to speed it up
or slow it down
learning how
to force
its secret
into her hand
Marveled when it skipped
at the broken pins
a minute glitch
finds holes in tune
as roll uncoils
to spring the ditty
“This girl has mechanic's ability”
Forcing mechanisms
noticing holes that catch at music
slowing
slowing to sadden the song
Winding it up to hear
again--
happy
Tears when it stopped
--the question
of why?
of its own accord
Thanks to Wordinthewillows, whose poems, The "Onyx Phonics" and "Angel's Share,"gave me the idea for this.
*Player pianos, working similar to music boxes, played a variety of songs when you switched the rolls inside. I remember being fascinated that no one was actually playing, and the keys moved by themselves.