Working with the NaPoWriMo prompt today to write a poem that engages with another art form. I have been watching my nine year old daughter learning and loving to play the drums, so that was the first art form that came to my sentimental, parental mind.
After your first lesson you told me
to be a drummer, you only need a body.
A heart to pulsate.
A foot to tap.
A palm to pound
Fingers to beat.
When you drum,
your entire body, small but strong,
vibrates with life tempo.
The first sound you ever heard
was the percussive thudding
of my own heart, close to you.
on the growing soul.
Primal instruments — the drum, the heart.
Soundtrack to battle, to rally, to rise.
Thrum of liberation, running through