I Keep Company

I keep company at bay. No longer feel 

safe. When young, I hid from the hard felt

of piano hammers, felt the damper 

that blocked vibration when the key let go, 

and resisted the felt underneath 

the keys themselves. Jeff Keys played the piano well. 

His trained ear, better than the rest. I had tone. 

My flute breath blushed a million-dollar tone, 

after the vibrato modeled by my teacher, 

Mr. Opperman. His lungs full of 

the Romantic Period, for all pieces 

he played. Swollen Baroque, even crisp 

Hindemith who composed "music for use,"

bespoke music to be played on instruments 

owned and performed by a town's inhabitants. 

new pieces for oboe and tuba 

or the triangle with kettledrums. 

Now I keep company with thoughts, safer than 

musicians and audience members. 

In some ways, I am a solo act 

disguised as sociable. At this stage 

of my breathing, I want to make sure 

not to break or to have someone I love

and keep company feel broken, at bay.