Playing Piano

Child's pose was when I fell to the floor exhaustion and defiance turning my bones to cartilage. They bent with only the slight resistance of my outer ear. I would bury my face into the white carpet wary to avoid the gunky stain which could have been spilled hot chocolate but also might have been mud.I would whine long throaty hums that paralleled the ringing noises of the piano that lead me to this spectacle. Deep Breathes honey my mom would say, the honey standing as more of a formality than a term of endearment. My fits did not spark in her maternal passion. My piano regiment dictated I practice for at least 45 minutes a day. My mother was one to pick in chose her battles so as long as I practiced for 20 minutes everyone considered it a win. Often, however I ended up in child's pose--arms stretched above head, knees bent, spine lengthened, vertebrae stacked, face smooshed into floor.
Milena and Kate and Laura would come to my recitals. I would wear a unnaturally silky dress and play variations of twinkle, "Happy Farmer," and "A Short Story." Afterwards we all eat strawberry shortcake and are careful not to drop any red sauce on the carpet.