By sitting lower
without the sofa cushions
she has framed herself
a brand new view – slim
and panoramic.
Gone are the cluttered back yards,
the front lawns edged with fussy gardens,
the parade of strangers along the path,
the straining dogs, the dust swirling in the wake
of every passing vehicle.
Now she sees only the clean tops of trees
where birds go to sing
hard against a wedge of summer.
She watches their notes float
up from the tilted, open beaks
in staves of crotchets and quavers.
The noise of
neighbours’ playtime children,
and the trundling dust cart with metal arms
in clanging embrace of roadside bins,
remains outside her mindfulness.
For the first time
she notices how quiet it becomes
when her refrigerator
stutters back
to silence —
it is almost as good as
dreaming, or being on holiday.
© 2017 Maggie Z. Brown