by Charlie Brice
So many are attuned to sharps and flats,
timbre, time signatures, and dynamics,
arpeggios, thirds, fifths, and sevenths,
but what of the rests, the moments
between the notes where there is no sound,
not even the noise squeezed out of car
wrecks, dishwashers, wind, rain,
or anything John Cage could conjure?
I’m talking about what’s below the grave
or between the planets. The silent world
of rest that prepares the way and makes
the hum of life so sweet, so tender.
Copyright Brice 2024