The piano sits in a corner
wrapped in old scores
ivory keys yellowed
too heavy for movers to haul,
too sacred to leave behind.
We push it to the center of the room,
and stop to catch our breath.
Then signaling each other
we swarm over it
pull, pry
heave an axe into its wooden heart
and set tones
free
split the bone-brittle wood inside,
stripping edges of dust
sharp odor of mice
from its ribs
releasing all the lost cadences:
minor modes
a diminished phrase
broken chords ascending and
descending on rungs
of disappearing sound.
Finally, we drag it out,
chunk by chunk heave
it in the back of a truck
dump it
in the parking lot
of the A & P.