How I would play the future.
I don’t know how, I would say,
before opening the piano lid
to stare at all that black and white in fear.
Then I would find middle C and forget
to stop for meals or sleep. 

How I would play happiness.
An acoustic guitar perfectly strapped
across my shoulder and the pick
to go with it. Without thinking,
I would know where to put my fingers, would
know all the chords. 

How I would play terror.
A full orchestra mid prelude
and all the lights go out. 

How I would play childhood.
My grandmother’s garden and me,
with my red-painted, wooden toy
barrel organ, grinding out a serenade
to the lilacs, lilies, myrtle
in between, to the tune
of “The Sidewalks of New York.” 

How I would play you.
East Side, West Side, all around
the town, I sing a cappella
waiting for the lights to go out
so I can find you again,
serenading the dark with twelve strings.