Thirteen

Her Junior High School graduation:
she’s singing alone
in front of the lot of us—

her voice soprano,
surprising, almost
a woman’s. The Our Father

in French, the new language
making her strange, out there,
full-fledged and

ready for anything. Sitting
together—her mother, her
father—we can hear

the racket of traffic
shake the main streets
of Jersey City as she sings

deliver us from evil,
and I wonder can she see me
in the dark here, years

from belief, on the edge
of tears. Doesn’t matter. She
doesn’t miss a beat, stays

in time, in tune—while into
our common silence I whisper,
Sing, love, sing your heart out!