I played piano yesterday as if I was opening the gates of heaven with each note. I had running streams of notes flowing with fervor and ease and I surprised myself with my dexterity, thinking that perhaps grandma Rosie was moving my hands to the jazzy haunting beauty of some new and blessed music. Traversing across the geography of that mystical sound we know as music looking out at the world, as it passed by from that 4th floor window.
In the sun I watched and played as the day unfolded, a woman leaving her home to probably go to work, a man wandering the 7/11 parking lot seemingly lost but finding his way to each patron most likely asking for money or food, a snappy looking watch salesman skipping out of a BMW with smoothness and grace heading for the watch store next to the 7/11. Men working on a roof two blocks down, with hot oil burning and smoke churning as if the fires of hell were reduced to the water resisting options that the customer below had ordered, and a bank clock in digital numbers lit by light bulbs instead of the new fangled neon I always see telling me that its later than its ever been.
I held back tears as sometimes the sound would march down to the lower end of the keyboard and tell the others in the waiting room a sad story from a sad boy.
Then in anger I arose and fought off these grief and forced the hand of fate by dashing toward the high keys and producing defiant and strong notes of lucidity and courage finally being draw out of the dream when my counselor asked if i wanted to join the now beginning meeting for depressed people or if I would like to continue in my revelry. I chose to go into the meeting but aware that soon me and that old keyboard would be able to converse once again and continue with that effort to open the gates of heaven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.