Vestigial Suite

Gregory Chiarello

I stand at my window, 
staring at the rising sun,
sipping my coffee,
lost in my thoughts,
the cool morning air putting bumps on my arms
sipping my chilly coffee and staring at the sun.

In my head I am playing the piano,
sweet melodies to soften the heart,
gentle melodies to soften your heart
you and I in a concert of all the wrong notes.

I remember when we met just once more at the park.
It'd been months, and yet we fell together like we always had
you captured me with blue eyes and young hands, 
carrying us up to our cloud in the sky,
and the birds hummed Debussy 
as I cried in your arms.
 
A sudden wetness and a rolling mug,
and the dream is no more.
The music: gone, and you with it.
I stand on a carpet now stained brown, 
squishing my cold toes in the wet fibers,
with only your faded image to remind me
that I once was alive.

The sun has risen, my coffee is hot.			
In my mind, I sit down and begin to play again.	
staring out at a make-believe world through my window, 	
I strain to read the notes on torn sheet music,	
trying to figure out a symphony 
I will never learn to play.