My friend, Sheri, wrote about public art sculptures in city blocks, and referenced a piano for playing on the sidewalk. I’ve been seeing more and more of these (although not yet in my city, which is interesting, since it is so heavily tilted to the arts). She shared a few images, and something stirred about a memory of my great-grandmother whistling a song as she made us tea in her home.
Sheri gave me permission to use her photo and I composed a few lines on piano. This song is not the melody of my grandmother, necessarily, but there are faint echoes of memory.
Notice, now, the keys,
the colors of the box, the way your eyes get drawn
You sit down,
curious – a muse of the streets –
a single note played,
your grandmother’s room,
the tune she whistled while making you tea,
on the street corner
Peace (in the poem),