A Song so Small

The days now are like trying to remember a book
read years ago, beloved but elusive now. I’ve read books
that have changed me forever, and I can tell you titles
but not words or why, maybe not even who wrote them.

For over half a year we were the same girl, a communion
not really holy but perfect nonetheless. You were a little stranger
who I loved, thriving on me and reaching your spirit outward
to your father’s, your brother’s, becoming us at once.


The first time I felt you move was at a Springsteen show,
my little rock and roll doll. Some say it was the noise
just startling you, but there is music in your blood
and I think that’s the day your soul caught fire.


My darling bygone baby, this world is mean
but I would have sheltered you. You
in your incubator with tubes and threads
I forgot how to pray but had you stayed
I think it might have come back to me.


There was only the one time we heard your voice.
We strained our ears to hear you
and you hit each note just right
and composed your sweetest and singular song.
Your voice has gone with you
to the earth, to the sky, to the stars, to the air.

But your song is not too small to remember
or too short rise up, arms stretched to the wind, to sing aloud.

c. Melissa K. Furbush, 2008