by Erika McLitus
You take the gibberish on paper
And turn it into art,
A long string of letters, symbols, numbers,
Making a pilgrimage to the beautiful simplicity
Of the Answer,
Lovingly framed by a graphite box.
I hear you speak of your half note and whole notes,
Of beats and breaths
I watch your mad-genius scribbles
Flow across your crumpled binder paper canvas
Writing in a language I wish I spoke,
Writing music.
I listen to your tales of
Fearlessly manipulating wood,
Delicately crafting a meal I would bungle,
Gently encouraging earth to take a certain shape,
Running like water,
Smoothly melting into a higher octave…
I watch you,
And then I’m burning,
Yearning,
Wishing that I, too,
Had a secret world
To share.
