Yuko Minamikawa Adams

Piano 


A grand piano is standing in my living room.

She is my grandmother.

She is a skeleton with no keys left.

In her youth, everything touched her:

fingers, breezes, petals.

She responded with cheerful music.

When she became Mother,

She started dropping her keys, one by one.

These are my mother, uncles, aunts

and then me.

I miss the days when I was part of you. 

I used to transmit my emotions through my bone,

and you transformed it to music.

I still cannot sing like you,

disjointed like that.

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