Marjorie Evasco finished her M.A. in Creative Writing at Silliman University and is presently the Director of the Bienvenido N. Santos Creative Writing Center of De La Salle University. This poem speaks of a love different from the one shared between husband and wife. I was particularly struck by this poem about a parent lulling his or her son to sleep because when I was little, my parents both worked full time. I was always left with the nanny until my mom would come home at night and sing me to sleep. I always looked forward to that bonding session we had and felt that even though we never really spent a lot of time together, just that simple act of sleeping together strengthened our relationship.
(In memory of Susanne Weber, 1925-1995)
Do you remember the stillness
Just before the music closed your eyes?
At the old water tower, he held you—silent as love,
And the quiet notes between his heartbeats
Flowed from his fingers to your waiting ears.
You have loved his hands, your son’s fingers
Curled around yours and opening like lilies in summer.
I would have asked you if you had mapped
The lines on his palms, when you held him
Sleeping quietly on your breast;
If you had wondered how far away
And deep into the forest he would go.
I have loved those hands that held you,
Letting you hear the music just before
The stillness closed your eyes.