Take Me There

A Child’s Morning Music: The Opposite of a Lullaby

Jane Ann Tucker
Move Me Poetry
Published in
2 min readMar 15


Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

Last night’s dreams fade when that first
faint tinkle of silverware drifts upstairs.
Before the stray rays of sunlight filter through our bedroom curtains,
I hear the clink of forks and spoons
Precisely knowing the drawer where the spoons nestle.

More sounds drift upstairs: the predictable slide of plates
stacked, one on top of the other. Clank, rattle, clank.
Rhythmic and assuring,
I relish each and lie there motionless. Lulled by soothing sounds
of knowing someone is taking care of me.
Then the kettle’s sharp whistle. I imagine a tendril of steam.

I hear it lifted briskly off the stove. My parents don’t wake me or my sister.
But I’m already awake, savoring that early morning spell.
Sometimes I make a tent over my head with my sheets then it’s more secret. I’m invisible. Listening as more kitchen noises float up.

The bowls, a different pace, a distinct dense sound: clunk, clunk.
I see a small, nested tower. Slow and deliberate: teacups hang
on tiny gold hooks. Sounds of contentment: the tinny clang a pot
or pan lid. I hope my sister stays asleep. I want this time
all to myself. For it to never end.

Dad calls upstairs: “You girls up yet? Time to get up and Adam!”
For the longest time I didn’t understand what he meant, but never asked.
It wasn’t until I had children
I realized he was saying: “up and at ‘em!”
And how fleeting, how precious was the morning music of childhood.



Jane Ann Tucker
Move Me Poetry

I'm a published author. GENRES: non-fiction & poetry PASSIONS: books, dogs,horses, playing pickle ball, hiking & knitting. ~ What hurts you blesses you ~ Rumi