organ

the organ tuner comes to my door
with his box of tools 
& his thick spectacles.
he doesn't knock, just enters
& i am sitting
on the blue sofa with my legs crossed
so i uncross them to appear 
more manly. he reminds me
"it is important to be genuine"
& i think "my gender
is leaking out." he kneels
& tells me to open wide.
i do, i open my mouth
as wide as a manhole 
& the organ tuner slips
inside to find the instrument.
no, not organ like spleen
or heart. organ like
pipes & keys. there is an old one
deep down in the pit 
of my being. i have never played it
but i know it is there. 
i did not call the organ tuner
he just sensed the absent tune
& he came. this is what he does,
walking town to town 
just to ask another device
what sounds it knows.
i know my teeth are all piano
or maybe even keyboard.
he plays a song inside me
one of falling rocks & sad oceans.
i want him to never leave
& to keep tuning & tuning.
the notes plop onto the living room floor.
i am a cathedral or maybe
a concert hall. i close my mouth
& think, yes i will keep him.
he plays & plays on into the night.
he plays for his release & for
the next lick of daylight.
when i finally let him go
a whole day has passed.
i open wide & out he scrambles,
toolbox open & glasses askew.
he rises to kiss my forehead 
& tell me to try singing more often
before he runs away.
this heavy machinery 
still sitting & thrumming
with the work of his hands.
i want to crawl inside myself
& press the keys like he did--
feel the warmth where
he sat on the wooden stool. 
the organ shrinks & shrinks
until i can't remember
where it sat in my body 
at all. i whistle 
the last song he played
until even that melody 
unravels & i am left
with the four walls
& the front door & my hands.