Pulse. Drumbeat. Baby’s kicks. The guitar screams.

Blankets laid on the lawn. Lights dim.

Music swells in waves. Rhythmic: pushing, shoving, pounding on the ground. A night of screamo. Moshing. An owl swoops silently from the rafters. The bassist strikes a chord.

My baby’s song begins.

Joanna Friedman’s fiction and poetry has appeared in a couple of anthologies and on-line publications. She lives in the San Francisco Bay area with her husband, twin girls, and pug dog, Blue. Follow her on Twitter or her website.