Danse macabre in me minor

Artwork by Joanne McGinniss

My father was buried beneath a piano 

No dirt, no stone– 

No muss, no fuss. 

Even now, the ivories trap his tongue; 

the melodies and rhapsodies of his life, 

they fell slow and still. Just. Like. Him. 

Music runs through my blood, 

Passed down hand over wretched, rigid hand– 

From the jazz emblazoned on my skin 

To the hip-hop branded in my heart 

And the R&B that slides on my tongue, 

So inky, so oily, and oh so sweet. 

Our throats warble in time, wet and misused 

But when one falls silent, the other 

spikes 

and 

SHRIEKS 

in compensation. 

My father was buried beneath a piano 

No dirt, no stone– 

No keys, no tone. 

From now on, the ebonies hold him caged; 

his harmonies and his heart beat so 

dreadfully and dangerously 

silent. No. More. Music. 

How am I supposed to sing when my pianist refuses to play?

About the Authors

Jocelyn Royal is a third-year biology student at Arcadia University. They're in the pre-forensic science program; they want to be a forensic lab analyst. Despite their scientific pursuits, they have a deep appreciation for literature and hope to be able to pursue both academic and creative interests as they navigate through life.