The Non-Instrument

Holding on

To a gray mass of wrinkles and kindness

Separated from my master

Positioned tall

Solid roots curled into the ground

Separated from the soil

Spread out

Weaving in and out of salty blankets

Separated from the other identical millions of others

Clinging to

Cold, barren walls of jagged darkness

Separated from the sides of the cave

Stretched across

Long strips encased in a glossy wooden exterior

Separated from my family of coiled wire

Coming together

To create a musical masterpiece

Where sticky children will run their hands against ivory keys

And high class pianists will perform to a gaping audience

Where families will gather during the holidays

And broken-hearted teenagers will mix tear and Mozart martinis

A piano isn't just an instrument