about piano, to prove how over-it she was,

then a friend invited her to his concert, and

she was the embarrassed audience, the educated

one, who didn’t shout “Bravo!” and rush the stage

with teddy bears and wrapped, red flowers —

Chopin didn’t pause in those places — so

she didn’t nod in agreement with the belted,

short-sleeved-shoulder-pad dresses who said, “He’s got

the touch.” Then, smug and superior, sunning

herself on the side of the River Ego, her dam,

marked “precious,” burst and Ms. Woods’

“She’s got it” and her mother’s “God’s gift” rushed out,

carrying away all her pretty, rotted roses.

– Emily Bobo lives in Lawrence and is the poetry fellow at Wichita State University. Poet’s Showcase features work by area poets.