K.M. St. Claire
A Place for Music
She is learning the sounds of this new place,
the early morning back-up beep of the garbage truck,
tea kettle whistle and radio voices vaulting across the high ceilings.
He was right.
This is a place for music.
With boom box and CDs he filled the cathedral rooms
with Beethoven ... Bach ... Vivaldi
and Celtic harp
as they shared dinner,
unpacked boxes, moved furniture.
And now she's learning something else about this house: Silence.
She takes the kettle from the stove, turns off the radio, feels
the emptied air around her drift upward.
Raftered walls hold the silence
as if it were a secret.
Hand suspended between spoon and cup, she grasps
the fragrant sound of nothing singing
in her ears, until
she can no longer hold it,
then she lets go.