Seven Sounds of Saturday
Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.
Saturday starts with silence,
slow and soft,
sheets still warm
from sleeping in.
Then the sparrows.
Scattered songs
slipping through the screen,
small and sharp
like someone struck
a silver bell
and let it sing.
The coffeemaker clicks,
coughs, and crackles.
Cups clink on countertops.
Cinnamon and cream
curl through the kitchen
like a quiet conversation
between comfort
and caffeine.
By ten the block is buzzing—
bikes on blacktop,
balls bouncing,
the blunt percussion
of a basketball
beating the same spot
on the driveway
like a heart
that hasn't learned
to be tired yet.
The lawn mower
lunges to life,
loud and loyal,
lines of green
laid out like verses
on a page
that nobody reads
but everybody notices
when it's not there.
Late light falls
through the leaves
and the whole world
slows to supper—
steam and stories,
salt and something sweet,
the satisfied silence
of a day
that didn't demand
anything
but your attention.
Seven sounds.
That's all Saturday is.
A short poem
the week writes
to apologize
for Monday.
172 words · 55 lines · Free Verse