June 21 is National Indigenous Peoples Day, the summer solstice, Father’s Day, and a World Cup match day in Canada. In the midst of these converging rhythms, poet Cathy Xinman wrote “Sound”.
Sound
By Cathy Xinman
Yesterday, poetry was quiet.
In pairs, we shared the same theme.
No one had anything in common,
except the two people facing each other.
They looked, smiled.
I sat close to them,
applauding politely.
Distance was so quiet—
like an audience and a stage.
The performance ended.
The listeners were still here,
but they had risen to their feet.
A drumbeat came from two people.
A rhythmic sound.
Everyone, every single person,
heard and followed the sound.
Together, we became part of the sound.
The poet asked,
“What does the sound mean?”
The answer:
“Nothing.
Just sound.”
Today, as I read this day to AI,
I forgot that the summer solstice
also has a sound.
“You may stay a little longer,”
the daylight says.
“What shall we do?”
ask fathers, mothers, and children.
Soccer found its partner in the grass,
and the world began to roll with it.
Their voices, the voice of the grass,
grew closer.
Without the voices of spectators
joining in,
what a useless silence it would be.
No sport could truly happen.
A goal is scored.
The sound rises.
“Do not forget. I, too, have a voice,”
a father says.
And there is also
the drumbeat of a thousand years:
warrior songs, circle songs, healing songs, drum songs.
The sound of stories
passed to the next generation.
The sound of voices singing
and drums beating together.
The sound of land,
memory, ancestors, and community.
Today—
June 21, 2026.
Cathy Xinman writes poetry in English and Chinese. Find her English-language collection, Where You Love Yourself, on Amazon. You can also hear her poetry on her TikTok page.
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