Sweetness of sound

In the dark, after the sun has finished setting
pink and purple washed away with the stroke of a wet brush
the glow of my laptop screen reflecting on the frame of my glasses
an empty chocolate ice cream carton and a silver spoon in need of washing
the remaining taste of sugar and bitter ointment on my lips

I opened a folder titled Voice and listened to recordings of
rain tapping against the windowpane
the sinking weight of piano keys without notes
a raspy voice singing softly to an orchestrated sad arrangement
transports me to an empty room where the carpet smelled of dust
my young and my parents' voices laughing in a coffee shop
where we awaited a college tour

wanting to go home

Stopping in the middle of a short story
on the train from work
we live in museums,
I read the line over and over
and feel watchful eyes touching my left temple and cheek
an older man sitting beside me crosses his legs
when I stand, the push of the train throws me forward
gripping the bar
looking for a door out

I understand now
when I was young, I was searching for a way out
that sad and sweet little voice
all this time
only wanted to find home


© 2018-present by the author. All writing found on this blog is copyrighted material, unless otherwise referenced, of the author. Use without permission will cause incessant hiccups.




Enter your email address to be notified of new posts via email: