The Best Sound Of All Poem by Patti Masterman

The magazine lies coyly on the table, its shiny cover
Folded shut, attempting to seduce me with
Large bold type; a story about celebrities:
“Come see through these eyes, ” it offers brazenly.

On a pile of papers sits a printed letter written in reply
To an unfair demand by some business entity:
“Come see through my eyes, ”the black font says
derisively.

On the table is a folder of stories my daughter
Has been writing over the years since early childhood,
Ranging from block letters to cursive scrawl:
“Come see through young eyes, ”it silently begs.

A book, left carelessly open on the bathroom floor,
Espouses some new improved lifestyle, with photos
Of happy people living in that fashion:
“Come see through our eyes, ”the book scolds.

In the dresser is a clear plastic folio of my
Writing, all the words of mine I have saved for
Whatever reasons; all words of mine, alone.
The only sound is freedom, punctuated with silence.