TUNING

This poem was written at a time when I was living in Glasgow and missing the landscape of Tayos and the landscapes of my childhood; the place where I live now, on the west coast of Scotland. I was hungry to attune to a different kind of sensory experience. But the poem isn’t a rejection of cities, nor is it an exaltation of nature alone. It is a reminder to myself to pay attention to what to attune to. To make an active choice to strike the tuning fork of your senses, wherever you might be.

Tuning

by Tamsin Cunningham

Skim away

the top note tin

of headphone beats

through subway ears

Smooth out

the wrinkled sheet

of voices raised

in Friday night anger

Sweep up the dust

of traffic hum

into a heap

crushed in a fist

This black diamond

of exhaust

and exhaustion

I don’t want it any more

I want

To strike the tuning fork

of small leaf shaker breeze

of canopy creak

of downpour

of dawn chorus

of vibraphone wing beat

and xylophone droplets

of river’s white noise

of cave’s echo

And drown out

the alerts

I want to be alert

to something else.

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