Won 2nd place in the Elmbridge Literary Festival 2021 Poetry Competition

No Music

There was no music at her funeral
but we could sense her there
as we had last seen her,
an 105 year-old figure,
stooped over her piano,
skinny neck sunk into her chest,
crooked fingers gnarled over the keys.

There was no music at her funeral
but for us she’d played Haydn,
her hands dancing in perfect form
“the songs of my childhood” she’d said,
then sang calypsos from Trinidad,
lullabies she’d hummed to the Kinder children
she’d transported from Germany.

There was no music at her funeral,
just awkward quiet in the Quaker hall,
a shuffling of shoes on bare boards,
the odd cough, a fidget,
eyes that glanced up for a moment
then back to the floor.
And silence.

There was no music at her funeral.
An omission of sound.
Her life had been teaching young hands to play.
A choir should have sung,
an orchestra performed,
a fanfare heralded a farewell.
There was no music at her funeral.