April+17


 * Mutterings over the Crib of a Deaf Child**

//James Wright//

"How will he hear the bell at school Arrange the broken afternoon, And know to run across the cool Grasses where the starlings cry, Or understand the day is gone?"

Well, someone lifting curious brows Will take the measure of the clock. And he will see the birchen boughs Outside sagging dark from the sky, And the shade crawling upon the rock.

"And how will he know to rise at morning? His mother has other sons to waken, She has the stove she must build to burning Before the coals of the nighttime die; And he never stirs when he is shaken."

I take it the air affects his skin, And you remember, when you were young, Sometimes you could feel the dawn begin, And the fire would call you, by and by, Out of the bed and bring you along.

"Well, good enough. To serve his needs All kinds of arrangements can be made. But what will you do if his finger bleeds? Or a bobwhite whistles invisibly And flutes like an angel off in the shade?"

He will learn pain. And, as for the bird, It is always darkening when that comes out. I will putter as though I had not heard, And lift him into my arms and sing Whether he hears my song or not.