Atop the Upright

A lucite carousel of photos, always flipped
To my grandfather laughing on his birthday.

In the smallest corner, the fat white star
Of a toddler's reaching hand. The edge

Of my mother's brown shoe. And, like comets,
The eyes of all, drawn to my grandfather laughing.

On the edge near the table, one wooden elephant,
One half of a set, one yellowed tusk gone.

photograph by Trey Lominack
What was on top of your family's piano?


Abby said...

Very nice.

Katie said...

On top of our upright piano were stacks and stacks of music. And, at different times (depending on what Dad, my brother and I were playing), trumpets, a beaten up Baritone, clarinets and a silver-plated Sousaphone.

Yours sounds much more picturesque.

Mr. Apron said...

Two years ago, my mother was voted "Librarian of the Year" and there's a silver plate bearing the award on the piano but, you know what-- I know there are other things on there, but I have no idea what they are.

I guess oftentimes you just see but you don't look. I'm going over there for dinner tonight, and I'll make it a point to really look. Thanks to your poem.

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