Whenever I meet a stranger

I show them a picture of a piano

that I keep in my wallet. I tell them

how shortly after this picture was taken,

the piano was set on fire. I tell them

it’s okay to cry. I miss the piano too.

I tell them they should have heard the song

the piano played as it burned. It was sad

and beautiful. Now it’s charred remains

sit on a hillside behind a house I used to rent

and it has become a nest for squirrels.

I tell them I want to shake the hand

of the person who lit the match

and tell them thank you

for setting me free.