Wednesday, June 19, 2013


Photo by S. Auberle

old poem, new photo


To see the world in a grain of sand, and to see heaven in a wildflower,
hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour.
             -  William Blake

My great-grandparents were called
the Plain People.  I never knew them
but for this one story that survives
of Grandma and her piano,
it’s wood burnished like satin
from beeswax applied as often
as eight children and a farm allowed.

The piano sat in her parlor
as she never did,
and children could only look,
admonished sternly if they touched
this sinful object, its music forbidden
by Amish folk on their narrow
path to heaven.

But Lucinda didn’t care.  I imagine
her on a winter day, the parlor icy,
sun shyly touching the piano.
Lucinda’s hands trembling
as she presses one key, softly—
hearing a symphony
in that single note.


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