Heart and Soul

I am upstairs, leaning into the upper drawer

Of my mother's bureau, rummaging through

Her jewelry, her combs, scuzzy lint brushes

And all the other things she has to keep:

Orphaned keys, old eyeglasses, Kennedy

Half dollars in tiny worn manila envelopes.

Thick scratched lens stare up at me from

Scuffed cat frames. Salvation Amy takes them.

I open the music box that plays

"Lara's Theme" from Doctor Zhivago

In a tinny key, watch the works evolve

Under a thin glass sheet, the gentle way

The blurring rotor fits the gears, the steel

Tines rippling in arpeggio, tilting open

The lid to find the catch in the silent hinges

That give when the lid is opened.

I can stop the song between two notes.

Downstairs, my older sisters are playing

"Heart and Soul" four‑handed and loud on the upright,

Shoulders bunched, kicking each other for room

To get a foot on a pedal, the whole house

Swaying absently to the counterpoint.

It will be years before I know the song has words.

Heart and soul I fell in love with you

Heart and soul the way a fool would do—

My sisters rarely make it to the end

Without stopping to argue over a missed note,

Or laughing hysterically after playing much too fast

Or too slow, or lurching at the same time

Into two different favorite pieces.

Meanwhile, "Lara" hangs in the air,

Unfinished and slight. The interrupted note

Takes on the weight of the last. When things

Are serene I open the lid again, and the final

Notes straggle out on weak wings.

Love leaves things like these in the path

Of those loved, the soft songs and the loud.