Silence

Autumn leaves fall slow a child's questions left hanging in digital silence. My fingers trace letters that will not hold still b becomes d was becomes saw help becomes nothing. The maple outside my bedroom window drops one red leaf, then another, marking time the old way. Mom's phone buzzes: Car arriving in 3 minutes Pizza en route Package delivered. But no alert sounds for the moment understanding slips away from me. No GPS tracks the distance between what I know and what I need to know to keep up with Sarah, Asha and Ahmed and everyone else who makes reading look easy. The tree empties itself of summer. My note book empties itself of answers I cannot find. Both of us wait for spring, for someone to notice the silence growing inside me in all this bright, connected noise.