An Ode to a Well I Call My Piano

“Yes, they’re sharing a drink they call loneliness…” 

I sit and drink from a well I call home. 

A lighted tree, a sink cluttered with dishes, 

A dusty piano,

A broken lightbulb. 

“It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday” 

I sit and drink from a well I call home, 

Sitting on my phone alone—

Is home still home 

When I’m not with someone? 

“To forget about life for a while” 

I sit and drink from a well I call home. 

My mom, brother, and dad sit in the little holes 

We nest ourselves in, 

Our butts making imprints on our chairs 

In a resigned, yet relaxed way—

I look around at tired faces and glazed eyes 

And sigh 

In a contented way

Because at least we are 

Together. 

“And probably will be for life.” 

I sit and drink from a well I call home—

Lost in a break between bustle, 

Left in a rut between the tussle 

Of classes colliding with clubs crashing into extracurriculars 

And I sit, 

Drinking from a well I call home, 

A tart yet tepid taste 

Trickling down my throat—

The taste of something 

And yet nothing,

An acceptance of idleness,

A home found in the silence 

Between the numbers on the clock, 

The hours in a day. 

“Son, can you play me a memory?” 

I sit and drink from a well I call home, 

The fake fireplace crackles 

And my mom cackles to a joke 

My brother made.

And I think that one idle moment 

With them in the fake firelight 

Is worth more than a thousand fruitful moments—

For this, there’s nothing I’d trade.

“But it’s better than drinking alone…”

**Note: this poem features lyrics from Billy Joel’s song “Piano Man”