shoebox | a poetry collection

- eleven-twelfths

we are a piano,
each gleaming,
shining key—

no, let me
begin again.

we are a symphony,
a collage of sounds
and mediums and
oh! how we differ,
but oh! how we
come together to
create a rainbow
of sound.

eleven-twelfths of
a year we spend
shoved in our cases,
any sound muffled
and played over.

so this one, this
mere fraction of
a year — a year
which we
overwhelmingly lend
to four-chord
melodies; familiar,
welcome, "normal"—

(but i'll tell you
a secret! we are
always in the
background while the
four-chord melodies
repeat themselves
again and again for
different screaming
crowds)

in this fraction
of a year, scarcely
noticeable in someone
else's dull repetitions,
we hold a concert.

you see, eleven-
twelfths stuck in
our cases, or eleven-
twelfths practicing
for our concert,
every single day in
that one-twelfth of
a year —

on our own, we
sing beautiful,
glorious collages
of color, but together?

together we build
a rainbow, a cascade
of colors from every
corner! —

alone, we are one
sound, a single
now across a string,
a lone piano's key,
but together, let me
tell you! together we
are one; one built of
strings and brass and
woodwinds and
percussion and every
single blush of
their timbre —

eleven-twelfths of
the year we reside
anywhere but the
foreground, playing
and practicing in
locked, muffled
conditions.

one-twelfth of
the year, when it
arrives in gleaming
sunshine, we are
prepared.

when june comes
around, we make
rainbows.

- a. // 6.02.21