Concrete Writing Assignment

There are a total of 88 keys on my piano. Each one strikes a different note, as if talking back to me when struck. The black keys are as dark as charcoal, their shine polished to perfection like ball room shoes. The blacks contrast the whites, taking each note a half step higher or lower, half way to a new idea. The white keys look like the leather on an old baseball, tinged slightly yellow from age. The whites speak louder than the blacks. Each key a single note standing on its own, waiting to be paired with an accompanying key. To touch the keys is like trying to touch fog; so smooth you can barely feel them. It’s only when you hear them you know they’re there. Wood as dark and as brown as coffee beans wraps around the sides of the piano. The wood a hue lighter on one side, bleached by the sun to resemble a paler oak. A reminder of how long the piano has stood there, begging to be played, begging to be allowed to speak.