CAGLA
SOKULLU
Piano
One body wrapped in the night
Neon lights flicker in darkness
It paints on his face—a rainbow
The rock travels in the sky
Crashes into the clear glass exploding
Loud like his father and just as violent
Two cats jump and run at the sound
Their paws leave small circle prints
On the pavement wet with rain
Decorated with shards—shining
Like the diamonds his mother wore
The blaring alarm overpowers the sound of the night
Three minutes and thirteen seconds
Till they are here
This is what it must feel to be on autopilot
Jump through the hole
Careful of the glass sticking out like teeth
Waiting to chew him up
Four steps until the leather of the seat
A finger hovers over the ivory
A slight press—there is that sound
His heart beats fast in his chest
With need with fear
He cannot breathe
Five fingers find the right keys
The peace of the sound—just as he remembers
Like when he played in the living room
His mother would clap
Only a proud nod from his father
It was more than anything else he ever gave
Six nights the house was chaos
With shouts and slaps and pleas and oh no please stop
But one night
He would sit on the leather
And for a few hours things would seem
A tiny bit quieter
Seven p.m. after dinner—when he faced the keys
He could not see
Did not have to see
All that was wrong
He could play and play pretend and pretend happy
That peace was possible—close
Eight bars of the sound—all of it floods back
Behind the keys he can hear
Those shouts he used to try and block
With a pillow pressed to his ears
His fingers keep moving
This feels like home
Nine times he thinks he will fuck it up
But the sound flows all right
Then there are tires on the drenched road
He can hear them behind him—approaching footsteps
“Son, you need to get up from that piano.”
And there were only ten bars left to play