The coal

The dark wood gleams I see my shadow
And the furniture looks beautiful that way
The keys evoke affection, they let me in
My hands, long and slim touch the ivory
The way kittens do, afraid of their own din
I should be dusting
The vacuum cleaner upstairs sounds like a   mad crowd
Mother too impatient to enjoy the housework game
She’ll be in a bad temper
I should be peeling potatoes
I am alone in this room
Geraniums flower in the window
Outside there are boxes in the palisading
With other flowers,violets,daisies
Noone else has flowers like this in this street
I touch a key tentatively,look at the music
It all comes together like water off a steep hill
Descends into a river
I am playing, at last
I should be carrying in the coal
I should have black hands  like Mother
I play