Natalie Bookout
1 min readSep 30, 2021


A man plays piano softly one morning,

with each note he feels like he’s floating.

It’s almost as if his fingers move without him knowing,

making harmonies and blending pieces together.

He plays and plays until his fingers feel like their going to fall off,

but he doesn’t stop.

The sound echos through the house,

making the dust dance and the stuffed animals in his small child’s room sing.

Eventually, the man’s six year old son sits down next to him on the bench,

holding a small rabbit in his arms the boys sways back and fourth to the music.

This was the first time in the small boys life that he began to appreciate music,

to feel the music and live with the music.

Fast forward almost twenty years, the man is walking through New York,

with a ticket in his hand.

He walks blocks and blocks with this ticket clenched in his hand,

like if he loses it,

he loses himself.

What awaits him are velvet seats and music.

When he gets there he almost cries at the sound of

the orchestra greeting him,

just like it had when he was young.

He sees him,

his son.

Playing piano on the stage with the orchestra,

the man thinks back to the short moment in the house when the boy was six years old,

and the boy thinks of it to,

when he makes melodies and music on the stage.

A smile on his face the whole time,

and the music of his father in his head.



Natalie Bookout

“I’m no longer accepting the things I cannot change. I’m changing the things I cannot change.” Publishing poetry for you to enjoy!