Home from the doctor’s
the day she learned it had gone to her brain

she sat at the white baby grand
and played

the children’s lessons spangled with stars,
hymns, easy pieces she knew by heart—

her healing art.
Mindlessly, she fingered the keys,

those narrow skiffs she knew could bear
the weight of her uncertainty

and carry her into that buoyant sea where
music beguiles mortality.

– Veneta Masson
Clinician’s Guide to the Soul