Old Dusted Piano

It was only for a few moments
but they were infinite
when I heard Beethoven
from a car's window
breaching traffic jam like a
musical interlude.

I was an archaeologist
who diligently dust off a small object
to recover a forgotten civilization.

A flashback that could not deafen itself to the function
of its ultimate purpose,
when my father took my sister to Beethoven store,
both forgetting if even I existed,
but I did
and the music in me germinated.

Like history
in an insignificant object,
I found it in my thirst
like rain in a succulent drop,
like a magician that
in the lure of his fingers
brings back to life
an old dusted piano.