by Shivpreet Singh

Night is a room of low notes. The fridge hums a distant highway; a car door closes in a minor key. Your trouble is an instrument with six stubborn strings: twist the tight, lift the slack, listen for the wobble. Turn the peg until the beating disappears.

In the dark, every overtone is louder. I am learning to tune by ear. A friend died; I found the G, a note so deep it feels like ground – hold it, turn the peg. An accusation of “fake” became the low E, all thud and floorboards. I turned the news off. Money worry gets the metronome: click, exhale, count. A sharp word from last night rides the chromatic tuner until the needle settles on green. The appointment I dodge gets a capo, simpler to sing there. Envy, when it hisses, I tune to mute. Whatever won’t listen, I hold closer and turn the peg.

Toward first light, the scale for the day gathers. The microwave hums for chai. I shell two boiled eggs, a fracture of white. The fruit bows under its own sweet weight. I leave the phone face down and pluck the morning, string by string. The room answers. The dog’s nails click a steady breath. The garbage truck’s pedal tone gathers the walls into pitch. Between the timer’s beep and the fading bass, a chord arrives: steam from my chai a warm harmonic, the window bright. With a small, exacting joy, I turn the peg – as the earth does daily – and the peg tunes me.

Shivpreet Singh is an American poet and musician based in San Ramon, California. His work braids everyday humor with spiritual inquiry and draws from cross-cultural traditions. A former scientist and Wall Street analyst, he now leads creative projects through the DhunAnand Foundation, mentoring emerging artists and building community around poetry and music. His most recent literary writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Rattle, Santa Clara Review, Consilience, The Alchemy Spoon, The Shallow Tales Review, and Neon & Smoke. His music and financial writing have appeared in Barron’s, CNN, Indian Express, and The Tribune.