—for my mother
The day before you go deaf completely,
I will make you noise.
I will bring birds, bracelets,
chimes to hang in wind.
We will drive from Idaho
to Washington again,
and I will read to keep you
awake. I will tap
little poems on the backs
of your arms and neck
to be sure you hear me.
I will play spoons on your body
in restaurants, smack my lips,
heave you sighs,
each one deeper than the last.
We will finally shout.
And then, as quiet
slips in, settling over,
I will speak. I will keep speaking.
I will sing you nonsense songs
until you sleep.
first published in Nimrod