Chimes
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The wind carries the gentle tinkling to my ears.
Is that you, sweet girl? I whisper into the breeze.
No answer. Never any answer.
Then again, how can I expect otherwise when you were born
Into silence?
Naïvely, my heart clenches, with hope, with longing,
Noting that once upon a time – in a world where babies were born
Alive, breathing – I believed.
But now,
Understanding in my bones how cruel, how unjust this universe,
Little missives from beyond time and space
Afloat on currents of molecules, suspended in the gaseous elements…?
Too fanciful, I think, too cute. Too good to be true.
I find myself listening for them, though, despite my better judgement,
On the off chance, that maybe, just maybe, there’s something there.
None of this – life, existence, earth –
Makes any sense, after all.
And so… maybe? ...But probably not.
Knives and butterflies riddle my gut
Even so, when once again I pick up my phone, and the time
Spells out her birthday.
Might this be you? I cringe, afraid to be made a fool. (Again.) And yet,
Every day, it seems lately, I swipe to unlock, at this. precise. time.
Why? How? Just coincidence, probably. Habit,
Or circadian rhythm, or something. Wishful thinking.
Nevertheless,
Darling girl, your mother is
Ever listening.
Reluctantly. Skeptically. Irrationally. But listening all the same.
Have you ever felt your baby communicate to you? What was it like? And how does it feel to wait, to listen, and hear nothing?