Open up and let me in

Open doors and open arms

Open concepts, because I want to make a home with you

Open-ings Begin-ings Start-ing

Open House, the first time I pretended you were mine

Open to you

Oh pen

Oh

pen

to paper

and fingers to keys, I could never explain how my legs opened to you because you were already mine and we’d done this before, just not with each other.  Though we already knew that I was the last person you’d touch and you were the last person I’d touch.  After that day,

We closed our doors to the world

There's an imprint on my left hand
where my forefinger meets my knuckle,
from where the that ring you gave me
used to live.
There's a gaping hole in my chest from where my heart,
the heart which only contained
love for you,
used to reside.
There's a scar on my thigh, from the day I was careless with your knife.
My hands feel cold and alone without yours.
You left your mark on me.

The weight that I used to carry on my shoulders, has lifted.
I feel light, happy, new.
But there's still an imprint on my left hand, where my forefinger
meets my knuckle.
The ring that you gave me,
used to live there.

How I watched them ruin their marriage,
And of course my childhood was lost in soliloquy.
I talked to myself more than others - they found it normal,
And I still continue that habit - nobody cares.
Now I watched myself fail again, again and yet again,
None can even imagine - let alone sensing my pain.

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.