Silent Little Boy

The mother watches 
her first child 
in his first winter
catch fistfuls of sun—

watches the dust and air
riding down to the crib—

waiting for the mobile 
to play sweet music 
in the arc of light—

and the sweep of 
his hand to its frame.

The melody plays 
but not the words.
It’s for mother and child
to complete. 

The mother 
knows the words—
Her mother 
sang it over and over 
the dark day 
John Lennon died:

Close your eyes
Have no fear
The monster’s gone
He’s on the run 
and your mommy’s here
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful 
Beautiful boy

It’s a solo song—
The boy only giggles,
continuing to 
capture the light 
in the crush 
of his hand.

She swings 
the mobile away,
from the light 
and away 
from the boy
silencing the tinkling.

Her face 
replaces the air and light.

She coos the words 
again.

Seeing the 
darkness around her,
the boy 
goes silent.

He knows her 
but she’s too close. 
He fears
her lips would 
eat him.

He stays silent, 
even when the mother
claps her hands loudly
away from him,

 —Silence—

moves her face 
from him,
giving him 
back the light

 —Silence—

She sings 
the song again.
  

.Silence.

The mother 
realizes she can’t 
heal his silence.

He lives 
now 
in the dark and light,
apart 
from the 
noise

 —in all silence—

In the vast hurt 
of her knowing 
his two deaf ears

doves hatch 
in her 
throat.

The mother raises 
her thumb and pinky
in the air

curling the others
in between into the
softness of her palm-

placing the hand 
in front of him so it’s 
the only thing he sees.

He giggles with pride 
in knowing the first words
in the only language he will know—


“I love you.”