The Piano Keys Confess

Lindsay Marianna Walker

We’re in love with Ace, the janitor. He makes our backs arch when he strokes us with a damp cloth, solutions of warm water, flecks of mild scented soap. His fingers remind us of applause. Sometimes he slips us into his breast pocket like packs of gum. His heart, the drum in a stand-up bass, all the love we need. Sometimes we cry when he forgets to put us back. Sometimes we follow him under the stairs.