My Writing, Ramblings

Music Box

Happy Saturday! I’ve got another poem for you. One of these days, I’d like to write something light-hearted and funny, but today I’ll settle for something a little different.


Music Box


She stands on tiptoes

on the highest pedestal,

turns delicately,

one slender arm reaching,


for the void,

the other

stuck in a graceful arc

above the well-placed locks

on her head.


Her tutu is crooked,

but what can she do?

If she moves, she’ll smudge the paint.


A bony hand twists

the gears beneath her pointed

toes, turns them clockwise

and waits for the showcase,


She winks once

and sways

before twisting her gut,

before puckering her

ruby lips.


The song is long-winded,

it plays ever on.

She is quite out of tune.


Her stage is a round

box, she stands in the middle,

sighs oh so sweetly.

She curls her finger and trips,


over the

laces, strings

of her ballet shoes and,

quite unmusically, she

gives a cry.


The gears are now slowing.

Her dance is coming

to its unimpressive end.


She listens for the notes

that mean she must stop moving,

looks down at her feet.

If she were deaf, then she would –

And if –

Then maybe –

She could be –

But no. She must listen

for the tiny bells to

sing again.


The bony hand stops.

She too must stop.

And she wishes she was deaf.


Photo by Frederick Tubiermont on Unsplash