The Musicians
—after Picasso’s “Three Musicians,” oil on canvas, 1921
Uncle Albert laughed he sat backwards on the piano stool he reached back for a chord a halting
melody
Roger slipped in under the piano he barked once twice his tail keeping time between Jean’s feet
Jean with his scratched glasses my father’s oldest friend Jean with his limp that didn’t matter now
his clarinet’s starry-night shine its husky groan
before one song could end another began first “Weary Blues” then “Dead Man Stomp” then
“Stop-Time Rag”
piano hands Mother called it how Uncle Albert’s moved even on the couch even drifting off
fingers shaping chords in his sleep
Father tapped the piano lid like a drum Mother strummed her washboard Aunt Adelaide sang
“No One But You”
the best songs are fast songs Uncle Albert said they end too soon
too soon streetlamp light slipped between the curtains it fell in stripes over their shoulders over
mine
because I played too my violin light as a bird under the bow I was afraid to let go so sure it
would fly
* * * * *
After his Stroke
Uncle Albert frowned
he slouched once
more at the piano
one hand on the keys
the four keys he kept
touching tapping he
kept pressing
sometimes pounding
afternoons a faint
tickle a stutter of
knots nots notes nights
and days he’d be at it
jumbled letters a ring
of jangling keys
that tangle of strings
he kept looking for
the combination
to unlock melody kick
off a song take him
back to “Maple Leaf
Rag” or “The Easy
Winners” the tune his
lips couldn’t make shapes
to say the song his
foot once kept time to
his fingers could play
all night especially when
he closed his eyes