We sat side by side.
You with your talent
in front of you,
and I, focused on you.

You began to play
on your white baby grand.
Your beautiful hands and
fingers endowed with brilliance.

I look down at my own knarly
hands, evolved from years of
painting.

We have different hands
for different work and for
the first time, I see mine
as beautiful.

Down the dirt road from
the ocean’s roar and
the smell of salt and fish.
You melodiously bring salt
and light into my life,
into the room.

I began to cry.
Quiet hysteria.
I cried into each sequence of sounds
that you played and felt myself drowning
in your harmonious ability.

I was on the mountain top
The creator gave you the chords.
He gave you melodies at
the beginning of time.

You finished your composition
and reached out to me.
“This will be your song,
Janet.”

“It’s time for you to let the music
heal your body, mind and spirit.”
Tears continued to flow, but stars
began to float around me.

The spirit was with us,
hovering over us, blessing
our surroundings, like
an anointing of precious oil.

“God used you, my dear friend.
You are the instrument
that gives me hope.”