You were my middle C.
An upright flush with polish
on which we placed the most important things.
You played in all weathers,
dampers soaking up the years of voice,
ending in the stillest pianissimo.
Now labelled sheaves of music
line the shelves, parchment thin
and all the hammers thunder
furiously out of time.
First published online by Coverstory Line breaks (Dec 2021)