The Shadows Haven't Lifted

A Mid-Morning Poem

THE SHADOWS HAVEN’T LIFTED

The floor in our home does not need to be bare, our sofa empty, or our curtains even

Mid-morning and silent, and the shadows still haven’t lifted

My hands warm around a ceramic coffee mug

The dog waiting for something, anything.

My daughter sits on the floor paging through music books, notes at her feet

‘This one says The Beatles, daddy’

Her finger moves down the index,

‘This one is called Holly Jolly Christmas.’

My mother listened to Burl Ives, I still do

My daughter takes a seat on the stool and begin to play

But she’s not there yet, not quite, she gets frustrated

She wants to know it all right away.

But the messy house and the eager dog and her

Father sitting, smiling, watching, and the shadows

Won’t let her. She goes back to her music books and

The day whiles away, in our heads, the echoes of an out of tune piano.