by In All Our Years
Once upon a time, I asked for help-
Something I felt I could not do on my own-
To move this thing made of iron and wood and strings and glaze-
I asked for help-
I waited and waited, soon realizing I would be alone-
I looked up the many stairs, the turns and thought, how?
I began and moved it slowly, inch by inch toward the stairs-
I lifted one, then two-
I rested and then again, three then four.
My lungs pulled at the air, my muscles cried and tried and yet I continued-
I had no choice, I could not stop, for if I did, she would drop.
Then again, five then six, on and again, one flight up-
Then two flights-
Then three flights-
And when at the top-
And moved her slowly into place-
I sat on the ground and gazed, at this thing made of iron and strings-
My reflection in her glaze-
With my lungs restored, my heart calm and waiting-
I rose, approached her gently, sat before her black and white-
Caressed her smooth skin and she spoke to me, sang to me, loved me-
I loved her and while I found myself carrying her that day-
I find that now, to this day, she carries me with her always-