It started as nothing but a jumble of
white and black.
Just a big thing in the middle of our
living room that my mother would
make beautiful sounds on.

Soon I was on the bench next to her,
my hands on hers
helping her make the music that
used to fill my days and nights
with peace.

I remember when it was her sitting next
to me, watching my hands create
something beautiful.
I’d never seen her with more pride
than she had in that moment.

Before long I sat at the piano
with a beautiful girl,
watching the familiar wonder form
on her face while I played.

I let the music bleed from my fingers
as that same beautiful girl walked into
the house, oblivious to the ring in
my pocket.

I was not playing the piano
on that day full of romance and hope.
Instead, a stranger was,
I was waiting at the altar
for a glimpse of my love coming
down the aisle.


When we got to the house by the lake,
she asked me to play for her.
I had barely finished the song
When we became one for
the first time.

I hadn't touched my piano in months,
Overwhelmed by the perils of marriage;
Bills, work, arguments, more bills.
As miserable as things were,
Our love never faded.
It grew stronger with every
Uncertain moment.

When that uncertainty became stability
And the hard work paid off
She surprised me with my own piano,
Atop it sat a bright pink bow.
Next to it stood my wife,
Her hand resting on her stomach.

I composed a new piece for the
First time in three years with a
Small bundle the same color as
The bow sitting in my arms.
That was the last time I touched the keys.

When I heard about the accident the
Next day, I closed the doors
Leading to the living room and
Sat in the nursery, holding my tiny
Daughter tightly to my chest.

My brother and I moved
The piano into the attic while my
Mother went through her things.

The piano stayed in the attic,
Even when we moved.
The only thing left of it a
Bright pink bow hanging
In my daughter's bedroom.

Mother and father stand over a
bright pink crib,
screaming, cursing, crying
until he leaves,
never to be seen again.

The toddler sits in the corner
curled into a ball and
covering her ears as her mother
towers over her and yells in her face,
blaming the young girl for her problems.

The girl stands in front of the mirror,
red cheeks, timid smile,
conscious of her too-baggy clothes
and messy hair.
She walked to the bus alone.

That shirt that used to reach her knees
fits her properly.
She feels more like one of her peers.
But her hair is still knotted
and she still squints because her
mom never took her to get glasses.

Her mother is shrieking that she ruined her life
for the thousandth time that week.
She walks out the door, but not before bruising
her cheek and
shattering the mirror on the door.


That night, the girl took
an old blade to her wrists and
fell asleep in a pool of blood.

In the small kitchen,
A toddler sits near the window,
Laughing at the older woman across
The pile of cards at the table’s center.

The girl is older now,
Pink hair and heavy makeup
Playing a game of rummy with her
Grandmother, who looks at her with only pride.

The older woman’s hair is streaked with gray,
The girl has traded her colored hair
For black and her makeup is simple.
She has moved on to playing Poker.

The table is a mess of wedding magazines and notebooks,
The girl holds one of the magazines in her left
Hand, diamond glistening as her grandmother
Smiles to herself from behind a notebook.

The grandmother wears a lavender dress
As she fixes the girls veil.
The girl is fussing with the bouquets
Of flowers that cover the table.

The old woman sits alone at the
Table in front of a computer,
The girl is chatting excitedly,
Palm trees visible in the background.

They both sit at the table
More serious than ever as the
Girl’s hand rests on her bulging stomach.

She wears a suit while she sits
By the window, a pink car seat
Rests on the table in front of her.

The grandmother is small and shaking
With every hand she puts down.
The girl has cut her hair shorter than ever,
The same color as that of the little girl
Sitting on her lap and toying with cards.

The girl sits alone at the table,
Her eyes red and puffy from crying,
Knuckles white from clutching her cell phone
And a crib rests next to the chair.

The table is covered in flowers and gifts.
It’s surrounded by sobbing people in black.
The girl does not cry as she fixes her daughter’s
Hair by the window.