A Mother's Ears
I sometimes feel a unique vibration within
my own ears. My baby’s crying, calling from beneath his quilted,
baby-blues. His sobs rustle the warm sheath of home.
Before my mind reacts, my body is up, hastily tip-toeing
into the nightlight’s calming glow of a cow jumping over the moon.
Outside a soggy, spring night splatters under streetlights
like urban art. A steady rhythm of flowing rain
beats down on puddled pavements. My baby’s cries
reverberate as they reach that instinctual part of me,
somewhere deep within my diaphragm and through my heart.
A mother’s astute ears know the subtle variations of her own
children’s breath in sleep…I hurry to the shadows of my baby’s crib
to find him curled up, eyes still closed; little whimpers
and groans escape from his open lips…a bad dream, I realize.
I gently rub his back, shushing away all that disturbs his peace,
and I wonder about a child’s impressionable mind…
what intrusions of an innocent day could bring a bellowed anguish
to the sweet dreams of a carefree boy not yet two?
I listen to him tumble in and out of his fear until his breath is a tranquil hum…
only then, do I hear the music of an early morning’s falling rain.
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