It has affected her sleep.

And often mine.

Day and night I hear

 

her tinkle and hum,

caught on the bits

her fingers cannot figure.

She’s been back

 

on the keys for months.

I wake to her tossing,

humming and huffing

 

as she works the pieces.

Over and again.

We cannot make love

when we wake up.

 

Fractured, frustrated.

We go through days

exhausted. I’m afraid

 

to bed down.

It’s a nightmare:

in the evenings as

I chop or bake

 

she’s practicing the change.

And sometimes I hum.

In a slow, playful way, hum

 

pushing her fingers on

so she may play correct

and all the way through.

 

First published in published in New Leaf 23, 2007.