Practice by Charlotte Jones

Practice
sat and stared
old, chipped ivory
ringing in my ear
its age trying to compete with young hands
young hands, again and again
push against the white slates
frustration
watching the empty notes dance against the hollow wood
as hands separate from body
a thick fog
watch
brain listening
the sound of the metronome
an angry burning beat pressed against the ear
heart’s pounding strung to align with the click
click
click
the pound against the
click
key
the tailored wood peeling at the bottom exposing light tan strings
thoughts escape into my ears
and the rambling, running notes are blurry
strike a melody