7:30
May 12th
And despite the pitter-patter of morning rain
Enough dim light seeps through my blinds
That a stream of it reflects off my wooden floor
Piercing thoughts war morning’s haziness
So I shove open my window
And pull my white sheets over my head

Claude Debussy’s most popular piece quivers through my mind
One quiet evening
Two months past
Flitters by
My legs sting
Remembering your story

The bedtime concerts must be one of your favorite memories
Even then, with my head on your chest
Your heartbeat quickened

I picture your sleepy blue eyes
Watching your father
Move to his piano and play for you
His favorite fan
Claire de Lune is spine-tingling as is
But he’s good
He’s got talent
His fingers easily flutter over the keys
That piano is an extension of himself


MS
Stole part of him
He’s propped in a wheelchair
While Mom walked out
No longer a musician

You hate your mom.
Can’t understand why he still loves her
“Last time I cried I was 17.”

Why?

“Mom issues.
But I’m over it.”