Natalie dared not listen with her heart,
But one Wednesday evening
She leaned her head against
The pocket of the kitchen wall.
She hunted for new sounds
Like bells within a forest
Or a soft Aeolian wind.
The mixture of excessive longing
Lulled her ears away from noisy phones.
Quiet crawled along her spine
Like lavender oil
And the tickle of this abundance
Spread open her heart
To dreams and desires
Of pine and sycamore
And riding a netted hammock
Till the half-moon rose above
The kitchen walls to clear them of
Monotony
And duty
And stainless steel utensils.
Away she let her heart’s days ride
To lull her labored day to rest
And thinking she finally found a forest for her joy
She canned the memory
Like a jam.
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