The ebony and ivory keys glinted dully
in the reflected light from the skylight overhead,
despite their layer of attic dust.
It felt cold up here – far colder than the day warranted.
The keys felt cold to the touch – the tinkling notes
fell like shards of fractured glass.
The drop in temperature increased – it had to be you.
Nobody else I knew could play a Chopin nocturne
with such lyricism and delicacy – B major I believe.
I whipped my head around to catch a glimpse of you
so fleeting and just as I remembered you last.
Pale, intense, flicking black hair from your eyes,
impatient to be gone – and now you were.
© Maureen Clifford, 2015