• Sally Russell

She never heard him mewl

in the night.


She didn't hear rooks peck

tiles for grubs, or the

chirrup at dawn.


There were no smiles

at his first laugh, no gasps

at his first word.


She clapped and whooped

at his concert debut, where she felt

the timbre of a cymbal,


verve of vibes through her feet,

an explosion of light and fireworks

behind her eyes.