Learning To Play Piano At Thirty Poem by Leah Browning

Everywhere I lay my hands
I hear music. Each touch
on the computer keyboard,

my fingers drumming
scales on the bedside table
as I’m falling asleep.

I feel my brain unfolding,
gently, like a silk scarf.
I learn to play with two

hands, in minor keys, with feeling.
Alone in my room, I write
a sonata, then an opera.

The house begins to flood,
seams bursting, notes
trickling down the walls.

You still haven’t come back,
so I have to do the rescuing myself,
using the piano bench as a raft.