The shards of her screams tore through the night
And my heart thudded fear as I ran to her side,
Crying, “Baby, Baby, where does it hurt?”
“Baby, please don’t cry anymore.”
But she only screamed louder and long.
Not the thirty-three dialects of my native land
Or the devices that crowd its sky–
Could bridge that narrow gap that night-
Between my baby and I.
Exhausted and dumb, we finally slept:
She in my arms, and I in a chair.
My mother watched over us but said nothing at all;
For she lives behind glass in a frame on my wall.