The Pianist on the Uptown E By Jacob Lee

The Pianist on the Uptown E

she thought herself just one of 8 million.
All seemingly, upon the E—
Uptown towards Lexington and 53rd.
she thought no one watching.
she did not care.

But watch I did,
as she closed her eyes
and swayed to a tune
only in her soul—
and utterly oblivious
to the lurch
and jolting,
of the coming
and going,
intent to throw us off our seats.

But watch I did,
as dark and weathered hands
wove silently into the air.
One forming
long rehearsed chords
into the worn leather
hung to her side—
the other conducting melody
upon a silver pole
whose monotone voice
could never do justice.

What would we hear, pray tell,
should those hands be placed
before the ivory?
A mother set free
to feed her magic
upon eighty-eight
songbirds aching to sing.

Hush, hush.
Should we quiet
the city that never sleeps,
could we hear?

By Jacob Lee


Jacob Lee is a 29 year old writer, based out of Columbus, Ohio. He finds poetry to be a reminder to slow down; a remedy to a world intent on burning itself out. He has been previously published by The Soapbox Press in Toronto, Ontario. He has a degree in music, and when not writing, is part of three multi-genre bands.

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