Evenings, sick of acuity
and its cost,
I pull at my hearing aids
until what entered
each ear slides slowly out
drawing sound
along with it, deafness a relief
as when I’ve had
all I can take of pleasure
The Sound When the Held Note Ceases
Tonight I contemplate, thirty years late,
his dark head cradled in my lap,
teen-aged boy from band snuck back with me
to our grade school playground,
middle of a bitter night,
and him telling me he’d been adopted
twice, and me considering the mother
who gave him up, one who died
when he was two, and finally one who lasted,
her voice cool when I’d called
for him that afternoon.