Somewhere, Mozart is playing With dirt under his nails And leaves in his hair The sounds of his world want to leap out of him And he wants to keep them Inside Outside And share them He wants everyone to hear the songs Of the wind, of the rain Of the rustling of the trees Of the clock ticking in the hallway And the dishes clanging in the sink But, he’s tired It’s a long ride to school On a single dirt road And who is going to teach him Music With no way to pay Somewhere, Jane Austen is writing Notes on some loose leaf paper From a tattered text Under a dim light And the scent of something fried Clings to her clothes Ideas she wants told foment in her mind And just within her grasp The thoughts begin to structure Sentences Stories Flashing so fast behind her eyes She struggles to take hold And shape them with her pen But her mother needs her help With the other kids And there’s just no time for Writing And other frivolous things Somewhere, Picasso is working with oils In his father’s gray metal shop A full afternoon Red and warm After a long, blue day He takes in the hues all around him Vivid Muted Saying the things for which he has no words Wishing he could find a way To make the world See what he sees And feel what he feels But there’s so much to do To get by The sounds of the shop are numbing And there’s just no use in drawing When his hands are always dirty or in Art When he’s hungry
Somewhere was originally shared on May 30, 2020 at Phoenix Fire Press.
