Gershwin

I widesmile on those mornings
when ears awoke to Mom playing "Rhapsody in
Blue"
on the piano.

Beautiful woman: its legs were
thin
and
erect, its
__________body
______________long and
__________voluptuous,
_______its surface
the purest
black I'd known yet.

A combed and cured luster maintained no matter the sun, moon, or streetlight.

And Mom cheffed all flavors on her fingers:
piano,
pianissimo,
_________pianoforte,
____________________forte,
________________________fortissimo.
Lookdown dips and lookup cliffs along scales I
couldn't understand but couldn't help but adore.

And on Sundays, she wouldn't play it, but
the scintillating heres and theres of feather-duster dissonance
trying to emulate

my Mother's prowess

would wake me too.



Less Peace. But more pride.