the largest silver ring my father wore
for his entire life on one hand passed soon
from hands to mine, what earthly metal rub
for me to wear- as if I were a man
in measures well composed to a Titan scale
broadening to my own fingernail’s length
disproportionate to the human hand
my flesh is heir to, thick as stolen cake
I was not to eat before I was eight
What man wore this? I slip it on my thumb
but no, it’s still too big- and everyone
is always telling me I have large hands
an easy octave stretch, such a wide reach
good at the piano, all those awards
I was not to win before I was one
more seasoned to competition’s rough strains
all hasty merits- welcome before life
rethinks our resolutions in a range
of three decades, it seems illogical
to think now I might ever wear this ring
no fate reached in size myself, no matter
how far my reach extends, but no matter
Chopin wrote so my fingers overthrow
the question
in measures well composed to a Titan scale

Copyright © 2015 · Elizabeth Ganot · All Rights Reserved ·