Grand Piano

by John Swain

Walls melt like pill coatings.
I put on my black suit
and you wore a green dress.
It was New Year’s Eve
and we laughed and danced,
your peacock eyes lost in mirrors.
In the middle of the night
my mouth was parched;
I went for ice.
From the balcony I saw
a woman masked in radiant white
asleep on a couch in the lounge.
Her husband was still playing
Chopin on the grand piano.

John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. His first chapbook, Prominences, recently appeared from Flutter Press.

Back to Issue Six: Winter 2010