melody grows through my fingers

"A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song." ~Maya Angelou

melody grows through my fingers
sitting by the ivories, i plant my curved
hands, extending lower than wrists,
land's end of arms and shoulders

communicating with stacatto synapses,
melody grows with both concentration
and wild abandon; a studied oil, and
a blurred finger painting

minor blues,  followed by purple
water colored classical pieces
delivering shards of unaddressed self;
blacks and whites sent through the ethers,
melting sticky notes to remember why i do this

with no answers worth humming
just the fragrant urge to keep
the fountain flowing, now spurting
sonatina in g- fluid, yet strong-

reminding me of my purpose, my ivoried life long:
why i do anything with heart; trusting
my gentleness, as metered waltz-
to become, in triplicate,  my greatest strength


Kate Lamberg
7/5/12