Resting Cymbals – a poem by Jesse Breite

Resting Cymbals

From the faucet’s drip
in the silent house comes 
contemplation’s arrow.
I fold into the couch
when the kids have given up
the animal racket of slight bodies.
A small white plate 
in the center of the kitchen
holds the unpeeled orange,
so many wispy ventricles.
The fallen petals, its
amphibian skin shed 
beneath it. No one dares
to eat its sweet pulse.

Love is also a streak of terror
that makes you aware 
of its duties before rest.
That children love so much—
the small kernel in their chests
glowing while they sleep,
I can hardly believe it. 
What more is there to see,
Lord, help my unbelief. 

Jesse Breite’s recent poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Tinderbox, Poetry Northwest, Terrain, and Rhino. His first full-length poetry collection is forthcoming from Fernwood Press. Jesse teaches high school in Atlanta, Georgia, where he lives with his wife and two kids. More at jessebreite.com.