volume

i found the dial in the basement floor
between boxes of broken christmas ornaments
& my father's rusted screwdrivers.
i had gone down there in search of the ghost
of our old turtle who used to sleep down there
in a swimming pool all winter. he was no where
to be found but i am prone to scouring.
the size of my fist, the dial scream to be whirled.
above, the family was sitting in a portrait
watching the rerun television or in their own 
caverns building minecraft cathedrals. 
i wish i could see a card board box 
of all our secrets. i want knicknacks of what
we're hiding. my heart would be a silver dish.
i got on my hands & knees to twist the dial.
as i did i heard the world get louder & then softer
when i turned it the other way. i hummed aloud
to test my own voice, turning from mother 
to humming bird to lawn mower. my voice 
filled the stone walled basement. too i could hear
upstairs the talkshow voices eating each other
& my brothers thumbs becoming obelisks. i asked myself 
would you live in a louder or a softer world?
immediately, turned to knob down as low as it could go.
reveled in the swelling silence. stomped my feet.
shouted into the basement's cool air. 
the house seemed to pearl away. smooth & opalescent. 
no my corners or doors. my family's necklace clasps
clinking. teeth turned cotton-balls. i don't know 
just how long we stayed like that. volume turned
down to zero. i knew at one point
my bones were round as hula-hoops. then there was
a grasp. fingers to dial. all the angles 
returning. foot steps above. the dial turned 
slightly up. i left it. put a milkcrate 
over top its face. slipped away back upstairs.
still, when i close my eyes, i see its face.
notches all the way around. the quiet
waiting for me like a porceline bowl.