Read by Da'Shade Moonbeam
There is poetry
on weekend mornings
in the soft notes
that tickle me
as my cat bats at my face
and the smell of cherry scones
push my body to finally wake up
and
in the days when I arrive home
after the long school week is over
the cool strum
calms my anxiety,
softens my home work
clears my mind
and
in my nights
when my dad’s distinct voice
drifts in through my bedroom door,
an experienced thief stealing my attention
from the day’s trappings
and transports me to
lands of chocolate swans,
whistling rainbows
and superheroes with friends’ faces
Cooling
Tickling
Drifting
Music