Day #29: If Walls Could Speak

You may have heard the expression "if walls could speak..." 

Today we will give voice to an object we love: 
What would your baseball glove say?
What would your old stuffed elephant say?
What would your fishing pole say?

First, think of several objects you cherish. Try to come up with five before choosing one to write about. (I chose the small black accordion I keep in the classroom.) 

Now, take on the persona of your object. Give it a voice! What would it say? Try to reveal the essence of the object through your word choice and the story you tell!

Black Ballerini

I was born in Italy
late 1940s
birthed with 5000 siblings
by quasi-artisans.

Shipped to America,
I landed between the hands
of a lazy child who
tried (not very)
to draw music from my
heaving (if small)
bellows.

Then:
the years on a shelf
were at first
relief–
then punishment
as must crept into mildew.

My joints grew tight
my wax grew soft
then hard and bitter.

Who knew I had life left
to give?

It was an EBay listing
coupled with New Year’s Eve optimism
landing me
between the pressing palms
of
(???)
an English teacher?

She adored me
yes.
But adoration does not
play an accordion.

I accepted fate:
I might not play music, but
I was at least uncloseted.

And then
–years later–
again at New Year’s Eve
she resolved
to play a song
with both hands.

We did it,
she and I.

I am now the classroom accordion.
Here in Room #408
I demand center stage.

Each week
I celebrate
Happy Birthday
–both hands–
for
blushing
smiling
students
while celebrating
my own
rebirth.