A Hint

by Michael Trocchia

after Yannis Ritsos

He had never taken a lesson, yet there
before him, on the road, was the piano

in a thousand pieces, a heap of wood,
wire, and hammers. He slipped a long blade

out from his fleece and sharpened each
of the keys, pitching them high into the air—

a song to slice the sky open, so he sang

in the silliness of an afternoon. But when
at last the authorities arrived, the effect

was troubling—how it was more like the skin
of an animal sailing over him, some new species

of cloud; the wind rising, filling and flapping it
above the old battlefield. Stepping back now,

he could see how they could see the horror
hanging over them. And so, raising both hands,

he surrendered without a hint of resistance.


Finalist, Winter 2022 Poetry International Tiny Chapbook Competition

Share via
Copy link
Powered by Social Snap