
I Kept the Music
When I was not quite twelve,
I stood in the middle
of a green wheat field.
And I heard music.
I turned my hand flat
against the breeze as it
drew notes from everything
it touched. Sometimes
it was a small voice, or
a burst of wild laughter,
a nervous chatter.
It was background music for
white clouds chasing blue sky.
It was a change of weather
that spelled heat, and fireworks,
and bright light that found
its way through sheer cotton.
It was the year I learned
to keep myself to myself.
When I was not quite twelve
a small part of me was
already frozen.
But I always had that music.
for dVerse “Waiting on Wheat” © Misky 2020
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