He taught me
how to flip a
coin. Twelve
years of piano
lessons with
eight comp-
uters (three
of them lap-
tops!). I stand
in solidarity
with those
emotional
rollercoast-
ers. Con-
vinced, I
chant “It
is no good;
it is no good;
it is no good.”
I should not
be writing
any of this,
I know. It’s
not helping,
but this I can
do without
even thinking,
without even
blinking. I
attempt a
full stop,
but having
moved away
from the keys
my fingers keep
going, tap-tap-
tapping on any-
thing surface,
but knowingly,
as if this moment
were always here,
as if this dance is
utterly inescapable,
yet ongoing, in-
finite, incapable.
