Millville, PA

The only jazz musician for miles is present in this room

She croons and we are in Brooklyn


 but it is still not Brooklyn

 when she sings close to the Pennsylvania Wilds


The song of my heart,

 is it a continuous melody or broken up in pieces


Sometimes there is even

the quiet of leaves, 


strewn near hanging flowerpots in a cottage near the Amish

As you walk up a mountain,


there are the trees that might know you 

as something other than this body or smile


The woman’s voice melts next to the cellist

we stop to hear the piano solo in a room now nearly full


We stand amidst the trees on the mountain

 rushing of water, 


barely discernible, 

the open mouth of a sky listening


-Anisa Rahim

Anisa Rahim is a writer and public interest lawyer. She has published some of her poetry at OJAL: Open Journal of Arts and Letters and BlazeVOX. See more of her work at