Middle School:
Beating Heart
I doze
content.
This house is mine.
Beloved, familiar.
I am this house.
The air is still.
An unopened present.
Untouched and safe.
Wind rakes at roof tiles.
And plucks at the eaves.
Drops of rain.
Breaking against the windowpane.
Run formless down the glass.
Having scattered dreams.
Of people scurrying about the house.
Flecks of dust float in the
sunlight.
So warm and silent.
As light makes its way.
Under the wide porch roof.
Softened, blurred gentle.
By its reckoning journey.
The wide hall.
Is flanked by rooms.
Still washed in silence.
as voices turn to echoes.
But fading away.
Before they become relentless words.
Pleasant, unpinned.
The room and I always drifting.
We have no names.
Only dreams and hope.
This house is mine.
And I am its beating heart.
by
Jessica Harper