A baby is singing in the morning
before anyone is up in the house
Before he has decided
which of all the languages he will speak
he is trying the sounds of his voice
in the first light
He hears a man
come up the street collecting bottles
just ahead of the garbage truck
straining uphill
to come throw them away
He hears the shriek of glass
It is like the vessels of Creation
breaking in God’s hands
He hears the wind around the house
and in the wind
every word he will ever say
and what will stay unsaid
and stops to listen to silence
and sings to it
the way the body addresses the soul
lending it shape
lending it comfort and sorrow
The body wants to be useful
and the soul is open so wide
This is the way we awaken
He remembers he is alone
and cries for us.
From One Hand on the Wheel (Roundhouse Press, 1999) by Dan Bellm. Copyright © 1999 by Dan Bellm. Used with the permission of the author.