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Meadows At Lower Gwynedd, Pennsylvania

Associate

I'm going to start posting poetry here again. I forget when I stopped doing that. Piano on Fire She sits, upright but alone, pleading passersby to play and perform With her: She knows she begs the impossible, but she knows better what she needs. Impossible, because of what she lost…the poor girl feels her worthlessness, tossed Here by another’s negligence. Impossible, because her ivory fingers—her keys To the attention she craved, and craves still, of those close enough to touch them— Have melted more or less, making a muddled grey mess of her once startling beauty; Her body’s curves—lost emblems of lust—sifting through ash for her licentious past. So here she sits, uprigh