Lesbian Poetry

Xylophone

She found a toy xylophone
Among her gifts that year,
Leaning against the Christmas tree
With tiny mallets near.

Silently she circled the tree,
Staring at each new thing.
Which would be the first one chosen
To make her small heart sing?

Would it be the ballerina
In silks of scarlet shade?
Or the little wind-up puppy
Who rolled and barked and played?

Would she choose the Mother Goose Book
With pop-up pictures new?
Or the shiny red tricycle?
We did not have a clue.

Circling the tree yet once again --
She looked so small and lone --
Examining each new treasure,
She chose the xylophone.

Carrying it from room to room,
She kept it always near;
The silvery little tunes she played
Were such a joy to hear!

She passed it on, when older-grown,
To a younger little boy;
One mallet broken and mended,
It was still a usable toy.

With years of many instruments
And much, much music made,
I wondered if she remembered
Those first notes she had played.

Her eyes lit up as she recalled
The silvery notes and tone --
The love for music she had gained
From that small toy xylophone.