A Pianists' Turmoil

A Pianists’ Turmoil

By Cathy Lea Collar

My very own piano !

What a treasured sight !

Looking elegant and stately,

Glistening keys of black and white.

Oh my, I couldn’t wait,

To let my fingers dance,

On each and every ivory key,

To let them glide and prance.

Where was that piano teacher ?

Where, oh where, could she be !

 My lesson was to start at two,

And it was almost three.

I could not wait to see her,

Sitting there so daintily.

Tickling, the ivory keys,

Into a melody.

Then she bounded in the door,

 Less than gracefully,

I looked at her, my thoughts were,

Oh No !  This cannot be !

Yes, it was my teacher,

As wide as my front door.

If she sat on my bench

It would shatter to the floor.

She plopped down on the bench,

I thought I heard it groan.

“Come here sweetie and sit by me.”

I let out a low moan.

Where? I thought as I walked,

Hesitation in my stride.

She shifted her girth, and patted

At a small spot by her side.

She played a dandy little tune,

Much to my surprise,

And said, “You will play like this

 Before you realize.”

I was so excited,

I forgot about her size.

 I gazed at the dancing notes,

 In the book before my eyes.

I listened to what she said

 And did as I was told.

She said to practice every day,

As off the bench she rolled.

The first month I practiced hard,

It was such a joy,

To have my own piano,

Much better than a toy.

But as the days past by,

Harder the lessons got.

I had to practice longer,

 So, excuses I sought.

But, mom would place me on my bench

 And then she would say,

“You have to practice for an hour,

Each and every day.”

My fingers cramped from pain,

And my bottom too.

 The piano bench was made for looks,

Not for comfort - - ooo.

I longed to go outside

 And play with my best friend.

I began to wonder if

This torture would never end.

The day finally came

 For my piano debut.

How I would survive it,

I only wish I knew.

I sat there on the dainty bench,

Stiff as stiff could be.

This would not be easy,

 that much I could see.

There sat Miss Tilly.

The old maid, decked in fur.

She really didn’t like me much

Of this I was sure,

Of course all of my teachers

Sat there so calm and cool.

They sat there smiling at me,

But, I was no fool.

I knew they were like hungry wolves,

Prone and ready to pounce,

On each and every mistake I’d make

 And drain me ounce for ounce !

But, I would show them all.

 I would play my very best.

I would play with heart and soul,

 And pass each of their tests.

And that is just exactly

What I did that day.

As they were shuffling out the door,

I was proud to here them say,

“I cannot believe it.

How beautiful she played !”

I sat there and listened 

To them rant and rave.

I glanced down at the keys,

Glistening black and white.

My mom and my piano teacher

Had of course been right.

As I left the room,

I was surprised to see,

My beautiful piano

Was smiling back at me!