I believe I've forgotten the meaning of quiet
for these valley winds blow too often
for my ears to catch a rest.
The stream fills the fountain with water,
the pot fills the cup with coffee,
the blanket rests upon my lap,
book upon my fingertips,
glasses upon my nose
deepening the red mark I believe
will never fade.
The dog is sitting next to the turntable
as the needle drags along vinyl
playing a soft melody I recognize
as my grandmother's favorite.
but eventually the coffee is ready
and the record stops
and the dog finds a new spot to sit.
but then you're stirring in sugar,
and i flip the record to the b side
and the dog is in the corner snoring.
and we've found a new set of sounds
to keep the room just above quiet
just the way we like.
c.d.
a/n: meant to post this yesterday for national poetry day. life got in the way whoops. buuuut in (late) honor of national poetry day I'd like to say how much I love poetry and how happy reading & writing it makes me. so here's to all us poets.
YOU ARE READING
1:46 a.m.
PuisiA collection of poems, most written at extremely late, or should I say extremely early, times of the day, when my mind can truly bleed its thoughts onto paper.
