Snare
Poem About Hope
She held onto the familiar strand
of hope that this silver lining will
pull the clouded curtain of somber
and reveal shining gold and hues
of bright blue, endless happiness
But no matter how long she stood
and believed in the mystery of her
silver lining, the curtain remained
listless and her hope faded into its
dark, pulsing folds, drafty shadows
imagine a drum beat
staccato, round,
expanding in sound
flashing its loud,
popping vibrations
and just as it sounded
it rebounded into itself
into nothing
like her hope
But since the orchestra packed up
and walked out of the pit below her
silent, dim stage, there was no drum
to capture the feeling in the air, with
a swift, simple rap of the little snare
more by A. M. LAINE
photograph by Lucas Boesche
