His Voice

When he speaks, with hands… not words, he takes a breath after every sign, repeats every sign twice. When he’s nervous he hums, sometimes he’ll squeal On a bad day, he’ll flick spit into the corners of her mouth jumping like a kangaroo on steroids he frowns. When he’s hungry, he holds his hand to his chin, taps twice presses his lips to the side of her cheek she hands him the crate of biscuits he smiles. When he needs the toilet, he rubs his fist against the left side of his chest To say “It’s time to say goodbye” he taps his wrist with one finger, pulls another finger from his mouth and waves. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to hear everyone’s voice but my own. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to never have a voice at all