It took three large men to move the piano. I never played; those ivory rectangles were the last thing you touched.

When the legs finally cleared the doorway, while the lid clanged onto that moving truck, a square of light poured from the window, pale snowflakes trilling above like possibility.

Jess Costello is a graduate student and writer based in Massachusetts. Her writing has appeared at Boston Hassle, Boston Accent, and The Blue Mountain Review. She is currently at work on another novel and drinking too much tea.