Dads sing when they do dishes.
Soapy water runs along arms -
As left over lasagna is washed away
All to the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody.
Moms sing sisters to bed.
Their voices carry themselves to other room
Like bedtime stories coming to an end
Children fall asleep slowly, then all at once.
Morning drums shake the walls
As brothers rehearse to be rock stars.
The incessant noise, the snaring beats
Pace to the throbbing in foreheads.
But for now all one can do is hum quietly.
And be grateful for the beautiful noise that envelopes them.
Camille Cooley is an aspiring writer who has spent the majority of her incredibly ordinary life in Southern California where she juggles her nonexistent social life, with her writing and dogs. She has been published in various forums and is currently trying to make more friends. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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