She was comfortable at the piano
playing for yellow palomino manes
for rains and the wet-kiss of storm,
for doughy clouds which gather, become houses
and horses, and are dispersed again.
She kept her own time
until
he stood behind her
like somebody’s older brother, with one hand
pressing her shoulder
trying to get her in sync
with the tick-tick-ticking pendulum
so she sits up
straight, fingers
stumbled across keys, caught
in cracks. She falls in after them.
He never smiles, only rakes
pointed fingers through greasy hair
and like a snake sliding
on a purple belly, extends
a flickering black tongue.
She wonders why
she must change
her beat
to his.
Can you guess what my instructions to this assignment were?
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renée a. schuls-jacobson 