Two Voices

Written on September 19, 2017, the birthday of my fourth grandchild.

Two voices of the many in the room
stood out like clover blossoms in a lawn
being suckled by a bee.
All other sounds were merely grass.
The sterile clank of steel;
the muffled folds of blankets on a bed;
the faint  squeak of a passing wheel;
the rush of running water on her head;
and people talking near and far
were unfamiliar notes in this new song.
But two voices caught her ear
like echoes of an unforgotten tune.
Two voices, among the clamor of shadows,
she knew well from months within the womb,
and when they came from somewhere in the room
tiny muscles in her cheeks felt the twinge
of what would someday be a smile.
There was care in all the other speaking ...
care and love and teaching how to do,
but only at a certain laugh or sigh or cry
or whispers back and forth from very near
from deep in her swaddled senses could she hear
the two voices...
                           that made her feel at home.
© copyright 2017, Tom Kapanka, Patterns of Ink

It was a quick delivery as these things go, and before we could make the four-hour trip, our daughter and son-in-law sent us video of nurse giving the newborn a bath over the sink in their room. There were lots of sounds in the background--the kinds of noises made in hospital rooms still in transition from "recovery." But now and then I heard the two voices I knew from somewhere off camera, and it occurred to me that perhaps this tiny baby felt the same way when she heard them. The first picture above is the last photo in the hospital room; the second is a quick snapshot I took from the car as we drove away after our stay with them. It was the beginning of their first time at home with just the three of them. 

See some pix by clicking on this link