Repeat Performance

Early morning hours
filled my head with dreams...
This time
I recognized many of
"impressors" that had occurred
through the week...
little moments
where clues
to who I really am
surface
and say
"Here I am!"

The fat man with the goatee
mocked me...
and flattered me.
He was the proprietor
of the beautiful place
I had come to live.
(that place I visited
in my dreams
only a few nights before
Bob died)
This time
I came with a woman
who would be my roommate
(because this place was
SO expensive!)
I showed her the beauty of the place,
the rooms
filled with windows
looking out into a a lush green landscape...
she seems pleased
and there
in an unfinished room
was a music box.

It stood on long legs,
like a piano,
but only contained
one octave of keys...
"What good it this?"
I thought.
What good is only one octave?"
But the fat man with the goatee
came in the room.
The music box was kind of ugly
compared to the beauty of
everything else.
One of us wanted to throw it away,
but I don't remember who...
But I looked at the old box,
wanting to save its life
and I began to play
a melody...
with just that one octave...
and I surprised myself,
for the song was
beautiful.

My woman friend
seemed pleased
and the fat man
suddenly recognized
the value of
the music box...
and I was pleased,
and raised my hand
dramatically
from the keys...

And the music box
seemed to fly apart
break into the pieces
from which it was made
and flew off into the beautiful
green landscape that was
just outside
the window...

The fat man looked in horror at me
For something that was
not valuable
had become valuable
by my playing it...
and my playing it...
caused it to be destroyed...

"I will find it,"
I told the fat man.
"I will find it and fix it.
I promise." 
But he was still angry.
I thought hard,
for I had fallen in love
with the music box, too.
"I will pay for it
to be fixed...if I can't fix it."

And then I woke
to the memory
of that strange
wooden box
that looked like
nothing special...
and I played it
and it became special...
at last
at least
to me.

Love,
Cindy