as a kid

i would listen to the sound

of my mom

playing the piano

to a song i couldn't quite place,

yet it gave me such joy

after her performance

i'd throw fake flowers

sitting in a vase full of water

(god knows that woman

couldn't keep a plant alive

to save her life)

and yell "bravo!"

now,

thirty years later,

i sit at the dusty piano

that hasn't been touched

since that day

and i play her favourite song—

our favourite song

the dark room

suddenly glows

with a child-like feeling of glee,

and i can almost hear

the sound of my mother laughing

at my silly ways