longing for the keys

have not visited the piano in three days, 
leaves me longing for the keys
that made me become
more of a woman, musician and all that jazz

jeers from peers, like a needle prick,
 soon passing
the dull ache of wanting
home on the range

with a proper suitor
 to wake me--no, that picture
has faded with my old blue jeans-

 just want what stills
 my mind in prayer
my soul's knowing


it's ok--the piano sits quietly
and wakes-- waits for me to shake the blues
in an open aired theatre- any town usa

blessing the disorder,
 the chaos, the messes
addressing the audience


is not so strange,
 we can rearrange our karma
with the gentle flick of a pen,
a soft warm chord,
in the dawning of remembering

 who befell
the straining--
no loss, no gain-

 just settling the score-
wanting more 
of the gentle,

sliding free
from the harsh--
out the window,
and down the driveway

we are more than all of that,
fancy fat cat curtsies:

for the audience of her own inner sanctum

 p.s.

 celebrating the beauty
 of understanding:
so close to the sun
rising, it stings

then softens, like wings
on high

seen only with
a naked kat's eye

~kate lamberg (c) '18
photo of   kate by kate