by Regina Branham

Created on: November 13, 2009

When I'm cleaning
I find her hope;
little pieces of little papers
tucked away in
little places; silent, secret
wishes of what needs
repaired - that no one
can fix or fully understand
her urgency - for
they see no flaws...

And I cry, a cry
for her, because
she won't - So, I dust
around her notes
respecting her reminders
of miracle
ears; little pictures of little
things promising to
hide that which she
displays everyday
alone in this in-between world
that the deaf can't
hear and the hearing can -
what she can't
change without her little pieces
of little papers that she tucks
away in little places.

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