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Poem	At her Junior High School graduation, she sings alone in front of the lot of us-- her voice soprano, surprising, almost a woman's. It is the Our Father in French, the new language making her strange, out there, fully fledged and ready for anything. Sitting together -- her separated mother and father -- we can hear the racket of traffic shaking the main streets of Jersey City as she sings Deliver us from evil, and I wonder can she see me in the dark here, years from belief, on the edge of tears. It doesn't matter. She doesn't miss a beat, keeps in time, in tune, while into our common silence I whisper, Sing, love, sing your heart out!
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