Selected Poems
Concert for One, Maybe Two
In her midday parlor, when grandma was
finally alone, she played her electric organ.
A standard Magnus Reed set in fake wood
a half breeze compressor breathed airy
accordion-like squeals, through plastic pipes.
For a few minutes each day, she would play
Galway and Kerry standard tunes from her time
and the folder full of songs, she always set
straight, on the fold up music libretto stand.
Unseen silent, you listen, in the unlit hallway
wedged with your knees about your chest
feet propped up on the wood baseboard
careful to remember and not to sing along.
She played for herself and rarely sang with family.
Years of cigarettes grasped her throat, but she sang
with sacred perfection, even fighting off high notes
to make each song, the perfect dowry of prayer.
When she finished, packed up her things
and back to her planned chore-laden day.
No one knew, you know and can sing
every old-time Irish song, she could play.
