The Orchestra Isn't Here Yet

 

Hush, be still, lay quiet for a time,

listen with attention to the cadence

of silence: its metre, pulse and rhyme,

the beating heart of aloneness. Latent

 

fire crackling as damp sticks thrown

on its guttering shocks mourners

with its desire simply to burn alone,

and snuggle into the furthest corners

 

of a used-up shabby furnace,

aflame with the Phoenix, new daughter

of the ashes. No time for curses,

no lamb meek to the slaughter.

 

No room for drama, save your skin

if you can, a fire suit's your best bet;

the new season's firesong's a comin' in

and the orchestra isn't here yet.

 

Christopher Hubbard

2020