Hanukkah in Albany, New York 2003 by James Steck

the piano
sings at night
only deaf keys
and numb notes
like grandpa
its pedals and hammers beat
within swollen frames--

I had too many nosebleeds when I was young;
Mom almost fainted
in the bathroom of St. Pius

but I was a Jew

(ish)

listening to other people sing
like the piano in the living room

I did not know I was out of tune
until someone played me;

the high B was always mute for me;

I don’t like dry martinis
empty politicking around red wine;
it reminds me
of the backside of his eyes
only occasionally.

About James Steck:

James Steck grew up in upstate New York, and now lives in Washington, DC. He teaches high school English and coaches track and field in Fairfax, Virginia. He often draws in relation to his poetry. His writing is influenced by romanticism and realism while focusing on contradictions, the body, and everyday life. You can find his work at The Rye Whiskey Review, The Ugly Writers, The Woove, and The Silhouette Literary and Arts Magazine.