Sitting at the kitchen table
and hearing
The pluck of strings
The drum of beats
The instrument–
of tugs, of holds,
of pushes, of pulls
These sounds
Filling up the room
And there I feel
A tug, a push, a pull
A feeling
as though my heart
contained by a delicate, pale sheet
will fall out of my chest
onto the table
A flat surface supporting
a heavy, fragile organ
Here I feel it
Pushing its way out
The organ coveting music
An addiction to sounds
Sounds you once uttered
Now crooning

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