Yochana's Practice 1962 Poem by Terry Collett

I play the Chopin piece
over and over
on the piano.

Mother behind me
in her chair
listening critically
the tips of her fingers
tapping the beat of time
on the arm.

I think of Benny
being there
his chin on my shoulder
breathing
him whispering words
in my ear.

You played that bar
or so too fast
Mother says
go back.

I stop and go back
and begin again.

Trying to focus
my fingers nimble
my mind elsewhere
not on Chopin's piece
even as I play.

I muse
on Benny and I
in my bed at night
when he stayed
and I crept to the room
he was in
close to him
kissing and holding
but no sex
just in case.

That's not how
Chopin meant it
to be played
Mother says
pushing thoughts
of Benny
from my head.