Her once-trained fingers brush across the keys
she hasn’t touched in years, then find their way
all by themselves, releasing melodies
her conscious mind’s forgotten how to play.
She draws a blank when asked to give her number.
Whoever dials herself? To write it down,
she has to raise a hand and flex the fingers
above an airy touch-tone telephone.
Her digits read a road map of their own
to comma, question mark, the Enter key;
it’s hands-on only—not that she complains—
She wonders if it’s muscle memory
that wakes her late at night to moving strains
of one almost-forgotten melody.
By Carol Taylor
Carol Taylor currently administers the online metrical poetry workshop Poet & Critic. She has served as Administrator of Eratosphere and Light Verse Editor of Umbrella Journal. Her poems have appeared in print and online journals including Iambs & Trochees, Light Quarterly, The Barefoot Muse, 14 by 14, Umbrella Journal, Tilt-A-Whirl, Susquehanna Quarterly, Concise Delight, Lighten Up Online, and Rattle, and in several print anthologies. Carol lives in Houston, where she is a freelance translator and sings with the Texas Master Chorale.