The piano as elephant

Frankie McMillan

My mother strikes the piano keys
a breeze lifting the music sheet

she is crying, some small grief
only the elephant knows.

In the hallway, the black boy
bearing a tray of wax oranges

turns a deaf ear. There is trouble
with crops, fields of maize. At night

he throws chilli powder onto the carpet.
At night the elephant lumbers

through the house in search of water.
His memory is gone. Only the dark cabinet

of the piano remains
my mother's hands, lifting.