Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff

Breathing Songs

As we drove amonsgt the cemetary plots. I pondered this life before me. This sweet breath that touches my lips.The same breath I breathed into yours.

As you cup those parts of me in tight,
And seal the lid.
Outside, and a few spots north, a for sale sign sits crooked, outside the UAW.

 It is here, it is now, I feel the fall of our unions. Silence can be such a foreign noise. To be alone with your thoughts so long. This surely  signaled something bad.

Then he messaged me deeply. Something my aloneness and thoughts hadnt pondered yet.

Something that brought sound to this quiet. This void inside me.
He wrote,”Sunset is a feeling..not a color”

Suddenly, I felt it’s warmth. His warmth. I tilt my head back, breathing songs of orange and pink. I know that,
It’s never truly dark until we close our eyes. Yet, we live our lives with them shut.


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11 thoughts on “Breathing Songs

  1. I like this a lot, Joelly. I would never have thought of silence to be a foreign noise, but it is so true. Well said. I would have gone a completely different direction with the sentence I gave you, which is one of the reasons I love this. It offers a lot of insight into who you are as a writer and helps me appreciate that we all have our own voice. There are some great lines in here.

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