​Tonic Key

I am from sewing machines 
their staccato pressing, the musical trail and pricked pinkies left behind.
I am from clocks 
empty of batteries, like a silent metronome that goes on.

I am from door slams
an unforgiving forte, followed by silence or my mother's fortissimo uproar. 
I am from the cobblestone tints 
lines for melodies yet to be written on the floors by honky tonk footsteps. 

I am from monkey bars 
swinging eighths, paint climbing off in ramattazz.
I am from incense 
snuffed only when I run out of song

when I choose to run out of song. 

footnotes- The tonic key of a piece of music is often referred to as the "home key." This idea of a home key resides in how regardless of where music takes us, where we go and how we live, there is nothing that compares to returning back to the centre of who we are.