We met in a classroom.

She was older than me … Hell, she was older than my mother.

She was an accompanist

and before that, a concert pianist from Juliard

Even played Carnegie Hall at the age of eight

She never cared about her accomplishments.

Such a wild spirit!

And why that hand was perpetually raised that day was a mystery

She’d always blurt out of turn anyway.

Loud and boisterous, her shocking voice could jolt the dead.

Already wise, she was a

Geyser of enthusiasm to learn

She reached out to me, no…more like crashed into me,

demanding my number and insisting I come to her place for pasta.

Upon arriving, I sensed the most magical energy in that house.

It was a vast expanse of glorious space!

A fireplace, a rug,

a black Baby Grand with a military shine

and Teresa.

The sun filtered through, making just the perfect pattern

On the rug that I would marvel at.

She became the closest most non-judgmental person in my life.

Nurturing all my wounds;

The vortex left from my mother

and the torn space from my father.

This tiny frail woman just under 5 feet, selflessly…

filled all the holes in my life with the richest love

any human could be blessed to receive.

She’s gone now, and I will never forget what she did for me…Ever.

I still miss the smell of her house, the rug,
her hammering out Joplin with more vigor than the man himself.

I even miss the screech of her voice.
I miss her.

~Antidotes