In 7th Grade Music Class by Elya Braden

          Listen to the story told by the reed, of being separated. / “Since I
          was cut from the reedbed, I have made this crying sound….”
          ~Rumi, The Reed Flute’s Song

I longed to float on hollow notes silvering up
to heaven, to dance in the high, thin atmosphere
of grace like swallows swooping outside my bedroom
window. Instead, I inherited the tarry sorrow

of my older brother’s hand-me-down clarinet,
conduit of lack and desperation. I practiced for hours
in my solitary bedroom, walls crawling with flowers,
as if I’d dreamed a jungle of security in a house

all open doors and border crossings. My brother’s
fingers intent on exploration, determined to pluck
my song from sealed lips. As I fingered secret melodies,
my lungs expelled each insult into reed after reed.

That year, I learned salvation didn’t live in winning
first chair, couldn’t hide in a crawlspace under the stairs
where, under flashlight’s flickered beam, I inked myself
into erasure, breath caught at the grasp of hand on door.



Elya Braden is a writer, mixed-media artist, and editor for Gyroscope Review. She has authored two chapbooks. Her full-length manuscript, Dragonfly Puzzle Box, is forthcoming from Sheila-Na-Gig Editions in 2026. Her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Best New Poets. www.elyabraden.com.