by Lucia Galloway
Aristocrat
out of forests, savannahs,
semi-tropic jungles:
sunlight and rain
wove the grain
of your impeccable case.
An elephant’s honed instincts
congealed
in the finger pads
of your ivory-slippered
keys.
You stand,
a grove of stately trees.
Like opening an atlas,
I lift your heavy lid.
Inside the chamber
of your strings
the deep sonority
of a widening river,
that ancient bridge in Budapest
across the Danube.
What harmonies,
what silences
hide
in the spaces
between your keys?
You host
assemblies
of photographs
as if your surface
were a mantelpiece.
Though
coffee cups
goblets of wine
vases of cut flowers
must never rest here,
you have upright cousins
less meticulous.
The jazzy piano
in a New Orleans bar,
riffs wafting
like gumbo’s aroma
complex and fishy,
with bourbon
hinting its sweet, stringent
notes
and wisteria
round a wrought-iron balcony
overhanging
a dark street.
The ballet-school piano,
powder blue
in a Chelsea flat,
tired hammers and strings
tainted with sweat,
the worn-out toe-shoes,
the endless
pirouette.
Piano, sometimes
you are truly grand,
a flying elephant,
one ear
flapping.
I want to be
tucked up
in your curled trunk,
relieved of cynicism,
staving off terror
in the rugged comfort
of your well-seasoned hide.
Lucia Galloway’s poetry collections are Venus and Other Losses (Plain View) and Playing Outside (Finishing Line). Recent work appears in Tar River Poetry, Comstock Review, Midwest Quarterly, Inlandia, and the anthologies Thirty Days (Tupelo) and Wide Awake: Poets of Los Angeles and Beyond (Beyond Baroque). A top-prize winner in Rhyme Zone’s 2014-15 Poetry Contest for her poem “Open to the Elements,” Galloway also won the Quills Edge inaugural poetry chapbook competition for her manuscript The Garlic Peelers. Her manuscripts have been finalists for Tupelo’s Snowbound Chapbook award and the Able Muse Book Prize. She hosts Fourth Sundays, a reading series at the Claremont (California) Library.