Brief - a poem

Brief

by Amy Graves

 The house is quiet

They are all gone for the evening

 Somewhere a violin plays

Accompanied by an accordion

 Somewhere a child shouts at

The other child
Foul
Not fair
Wait for me
Here, take this

Somewhere a grandmother laughs and

A grandfather smiles
The children are only here a short while
Their arguments are far more brief
Than my husband and I realize

 The house is quiet

And I can hear crickets
Outside
A subtle breeze blows across
The dollar store pinwheels
In my front yard
They click
And laugh
And argue with the wind about
Direction

The house is quiet

And somewhere time
Passes
Like a cricket’s chirp
Like the pinwheel’s
Spin
Like
A violin
Singing.
 

© Amy Graves 8/17/13