PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

A note, a melody, breaking silence, breaking into my mind. My piano is hunted, but hunted in a good way. As I sit on my piano and pass my hands through the sweet keys I can’t help but to think about my grandmother, Hortencia. She passed away just a year ago, just before I started playing the piano, but I know she would be more than happy to hear me play, she would have loved to be my mentor. I have nothing left from her behind but the piano always reminds me of her. She could do magic with her hands. With a piece of bread and some water she could make a lovely rose or imitate Picasso. My grandma was so talented in so different ways, she tried to pass her legacy to us, her grandchild, but just some of us really learned from her. I remember when she used to babysit me; she was always drawing, sewing, or painting something. I guess I owe her my interest of arts and crafts. One time, when my uncle Jaime gave her a keyboard (because he thought it was the same as a piano) I tried to play it, and my grandma saw me trying. She sat right next to me and tried to give me some few lessons. I remember I played a song with her, I don’t recall the name but I do recall the sweet melody of it. Just now I can go back to that day like if it was yesterday and play once more with her. But shortly after that I started to grow up and became a teen. I started to pass out my grandma’s house and her lessons; I just wanted to hang out with my friends. But life can take unpredictable turns at times, and we can’t control it or mend things. One night of May 6 years ago, my grandma suffered an embolism. We thought she wouldn’t make the night, but luckily, or thinking it twice without luck, she was left with all her left paralyzed. That’s when I regretted not spending more time with her, or learn more of her many talents. Now a year from her death I do play the piano, I know she would have loved to hear me play and teach me her wisdom. I can’t help to feel bad that I didn’t learn from her. My grandma just loved arts much as I do, too bad we couldn’t share that feeling. She didn’t leave me anything to remember her. All I have left that could be said from her is my gaze, which my father says we have exactly the same. But my piano is what I can use to describe her, and feel more close to her. Every time I play my father can’t help but to tell me anecdotes of my grandma, and how he remembers his mom playing the piano back when he was just a child. I guess my grandmother never really left us, she hangs around my piano, and after all I think she missed hers. She was just a sweet loving grandmother; I regret I couldn’t see that before it was too late.