From a mother's diary about her deaf child
Tick tock. Tick tock ring.
Ring. Riinng. Riiinnng!
Yawn. Splitting headache.
Riiiinnnng! I jump to my feet,
Rub my eyes and wipe the
wetness on the ends of my gown.
Birds are chirping outside, mocking
me; mocking her and her lack of sound.
She sleeps peacefully beside,
a smile on her face.
I use one so often, it's a tool
just a hand stretch away.
I stroke her hair and carcass her cheek.
I smell her scent; she smells
like the soap I use. I listen to her
breathing, as sweet as church bells.
She used to be special, not abnormal, until
her certified protector went insane.
My ring represented his promises but
now embodies her suffering and my pain.
I regret the first push that gave her
life. I regret the final push that took
it. Her piercing scream; her last word
eloped with my ability to look
through dry eyes. Sniff.
I snapped out of my daze. Riiinnng!
A myriad of noises all around me.
Yet, her silence is most deafening.
