Words

Some of the things Soren can say with his iPad.

And his cool protective case 

(with some gnaw marks in the lower right, of course)

Eyes and Ears

Perhaps it's my friendship with Dick,

who watches and listens from his wheelchair

but cannot speak, has never spoken,

that makes me aware of the daily

unintrusive presences

of other mute watchers and listeners.

Not the household animals

with their quick bodies--they have cry

and gesture as a kind of language--

but rooted lives, like trees,

our speechless ancestors,

which line the streets and see me,

see all of us. But August

they're dark with memories of us.

And the flowers in the garden--

aren't they like our children were:

tulips and roses all ears,

asters wide-open eyes?

I don't think the sun bothers

 with us; it is too full

of its own radiance. But the moon,

that silent all-night cruiser,

wants to connect with us noisy breathers

and lets itself into the house

to keep us awake. The other day,

talking to someone else 

and forgetting Dick was in the room,

I suddenly heard him laugh.

What did I say, Dick? You're like the moon,

an archive of utterance not your own.

But when I walk over to you,

you turn into the sun,

on fire with some news

of your own life. Your fingers search

among the words inked on your board,

the few, poor, catchall words

you have, to let me glimpse

the white heat trapped inside you.

--Lisel Mueller, from Alive Together