Holding back
Mary
I don’t know where it
came from,
This ability to play,
maybe
From a recessive gene
hidden
Way back in the family
pool.
My parents are not musical—
my dad
Barely taps his toes to
music
And my mom is
tone deaf.
Maybe that’s why she thinks
I can
Turn it on
on command,
Like she’s the organ
grinder
and I’m her faithful
monkey,
Penny in the slot and here
we go.
But it’s not that
simple.
The music stirs in-
side me
Almost like a chick
tapping
On its shell when it’s
ready
To emerge, its eyes closed
against
The starkness of the light,
like me
Up on the stage at school
first time.
When people want to pull
music
Out of me it makes me
angry
Because the music is part
of me,
It’s not detachable, like a
fake limb.