Rest

It is the tap-tap-tap of the woodpecker blending with the back-n-forth squeak of the rocking chair.

The cicadas sing (maybe for fun; probably not) and drench the yellow afternoon air.

The little boy in red next door prances around, his bare feet patting the concrete

To a rhythm no one hears but him: the conductor of his own heartbeat.

Over the jeweled grass drifts a laugh like an echo, a decrescendo slowly fading into memory.

And in the boxy house two doors down, nameless fingers draw out a reverberating melody.

Above me and within me and around me swirl colors that my eyes don’t see

But my ears do; they catch the thin purple of the buzzzzz left behind by a lazy bee.

Yellow of an old lady’s knitting needles as they click, and her humming

Contented powder-blue because she knows her grandkids are coming.

Her song is joined by the accented moo of the cows — rusty orange, I think —

And the insects and birds and neighbors and grass and the whispered clink

Of the ivory keys under my fingernails that soothe the jumble in my mind:

The perfect tangle of harmonies I don’t need to look hard to find.

And I breathe in deep and only once the sounds saturate my heart do I let it out.

Because music is the beautiful one thing that I cannot live without.
 

This poem is about: 
Me
Guide that inspired this poem: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741