Playback

Not stories, but songs

Grins shared with Daddy, set to the sound of jazz

Passing on the knowledge of the beat

From birth, I whine in key, I kick in time

Conversation carried through the house, balanced on

The sound of cicadas

Skinned knees on the hot street

Stubbed toes on bare feet

Crying for these things

Now wishing I still had these things to cry for.