The Family Piano


There’s an old piano
You don’t try to play now
Too far out of tune
Painful to the ear

Some of the keys
Have got chipped
Some, if struck, produce
No more than a soft clunk
Of wood against faded felt
Its note missing completely
No go-between connection
Between finger and string

You cannot use it
You cannot give it away
It is too broken
Beyond repair
You are too ashamed
To even let others see it
You hide it away in a back room
One where no one ever goes
Not even to dust any more

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on November 4, 2018, in Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. I’m reading this as a fine metaphor, Ben. And also literally, as you’ve described perfectly the 90 year old piano in our family. (Except my son has it now, keeps it dusted, and is planning to have it restored, if possible.)
    A wonderful poem – I love this! 🤗

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Fresh off the press. 🙂 Glad you enjoyed it, Betty. 🙂


  3. Very good description of such a piano — and as Betty mentions nice metaphor!

    Liked by 1 person

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