My sister was seven days in the cold ground when the piano began playing itself.
|My sister was seven days in the cold ground|
when the piano began playing itself,
a lonely ringing voice in the winter night,
snow-consumed howl of mourning
breaking the silence we clung to
like a life raft. My mother grew furious
and beat the thing as if it were a disobedient child.
When it did not cease, my father took a set of pliers
to the keys, pulled them like teeth
until there was nothing left
but a gaping grin and the tremendous weight
of an absence. Later, we awoke in darkness
as the wolves screamed hell into the freezing wind
just outside our windows.