February 12, 2009
By Holly Farrell BRONZE, Westfield, Indiana
Holly Farrell BRONZE, Westfield, Indiana
3 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Pulling the large, heavy box down
from over our heads was no easy task.
(muscles straining, teetering on the ladder)
Discovery had come in the attic
(we'd been searching for an old trunk)
Sitting in the hall, sweating in the August heat
I blew off the years of dust
(it stuck to our sweaty faces).
We opened the heavy load.

I'd never heard one before.
(maybe it didn't even work).
Along with it were the keys to sound.
(six or seven, dusty, but unscratched)
Picking it up and placing it on the spindle
(the way they did in movies).
A piercing shriek bounced off the walls
(killing my desire to try again).

You replaced the needle,
(still hoping for melodies)
This time, sound flowed forth
(after slight crackling).

The setting sun
reflected the golden noise
(that was now singing)
We watched the turning and spinning,
sitting cross-legged on the plush rug
(chins in our hands).

We watched the turning
(the same each time)
Listened to the sounds
(old and beautiful)
Felt the heat
(sticky and stifling)
Enjoyed each others' silence
(an unusual feat)
And waited for the sun to go down.

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