The Harbor of Your Voice
Wednesday Prose Poem prompt (10/6): who do you see?
The Harbor of Your Voice
I am tucked into the warm curl of your arm, ear on your heart, the resonant hum of your voice through your bones and flesh, my small vessel moored there — your voice a comfort, a harbor, gathered me to ground — the ground of yes, saying, “all is good, you are good” no matter what . . . you read to me: silly Dr Seuss and animal stories from your boyhood, all memorable — attached to your voice, rumbling and gentle.
Family fracture, the sound of your voice tacked away slowly, sporadically came through phone lines, still offered some ballast — I grew anyway, far away and drifting in your absence, drawing reserves inward, I learned to navigate, to fold your voice into a compact treasure of maps in my gut: feeds my heart — I hoist and rudder to you a few times a year, but feel your absence grow as I grow — you, settled into new home and family.
Eventually, I bring my own babies to visit a couple of times a year and they sit on you while you read to them — I watch and remember that feeling, see them snuggled comfortably, glad. And years flow on — simultaneous distance and closeness, minimum maintenance, my acceptance of loss and your expressed regrets, your almost involvement, but always affection and gladness for visits.
