SHIRI’S PIANO

You hold the chords like my grandfather held spring wheat
in his gnarled hand,
a big hand and strong, yet it caressed the silky kernels so
gently that they 
whispered to him all their dreams of tallness and sunshine
and growth

and you break the chords and scatter the kernels over the
dark earth
like he did and they grow and grow until they reach our
mouths
and we can taste their hard nuttiness warm between our
teeth

and they grow in your field until they reach our noses
and we smell again the fires
that licked the dry sticks and leaves, turned old to new,
covered fields in smoke
hid the mystery of yet another spring, the hunger of our
childhood

and they grow until they tickle our ears and make us laugh
with pure happiness 
and hear again my grandfather’s song as he walked through
muddy fields 
feeding his tired muscles rhythms, singing his hungry body
home.

"Shiri's Piano" won an International Publishers Prize from Atlanta Review and was published in its International Issue, distributed in more than 120 countries.