Paideia
Listen — tentative strikes on a snare drum.
(It’s the time of day for thunderstorms.)
Tentative strikes on a cymbal.
(There are no thunderstorms all summer.)
Ripple
through brass grain.
Crepitations
of an insect
that desiccates my sleep —
Cicada-da-sshh!
It comes from the closet where the drums sit,
neglected:
A small boy’s
tentative unerring rhythm.
Cicada-da-sshh!
Drought time.
Not a normal summer.
Cicadas unsheathing.
Throw the door open —
Little Dionysus! Birth of a drummer.
Printed from Cerise Press: http://www.cerisepress.com
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