Listening for Children
Upstairs I rake sounds through floorboards
tweezing the prosthetic ‘a’ to make sense
of chirps below. My cheeks decipher walls,
a toe tug and time between years.
I count vertebrae,
sink through baklavaian sheets,
sleeping between teenage sounds,
wonder up aisles of half centuries,
while threading chain to sprocket
with bare hands.
RG 1.1.13
Young people
sleeping in the studio. Limited by the trash in the office bin.
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