Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Vivian Smith

The Room

The Room

The Room

She got on so much better with the dead.
They understood her needs, and she, theirs.
She knew the pefect things they would have said
to her when she was tense and close to tears.

Outside was noise and people, kids and bed
which made her edgy, irritable, strained.
But in the room where nothing could be heard
a different reach of feeling was attained.

Her soul seemed to emerge from a cocoon.
Music began to hum inside her head
recalling places long unvisited
like cities on the handle of a spoon.

It was a start; she knew the spot was there
though she had often doubted it existed.
She scribbled the first words out of the air
confirming that her mind persisted.
Close

The Room

She got on so much better with the dead.
They understood her needs, and she, theirs.
She knew the pefect things they would have said
to her when she was tense and close to tears.

Outside was noise and people, kids and bed
which made her edgy, irritable, strained.
But in the room where nothing could be heard
a different reach of feeling was attained.

Her soul seemed to emerge from a cocoon.
Music began to hum inside her head
recalling places long unvisited
like cities on the handle of a spoon.

It was a start; she knew the spot was there
though she had often doubted it existed.
She scribbled the first words out of the air
confirming that her mind persisted.

The Room

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