The day I couldn't speak
we built towers together,
each block a ponderous lump
in your small hand.
I watched you stretch high as your head,
while the blocks wobbled
and my heart wobbled
for love of you.

The day I couldn't speak
you brought me books
that I couldn't read,
asked me questions
that I couldn't answer,
and I heard your voice, your words,
which slip by me
so lightly
on ordinary days.

The day I couldn't speak
we made Jell-O,
played with balls,
laid out a feast
on tiny plastic plates
for all your toys,
and, in between, you hugged me,
fixing everything,
as you do
each day.

-- Mary Soon Lee