The day my father lost his voice speaking Hebrew,
no one laughed,
silence like a foundation,
airy as the firmament. This day he was born,
he was made
to choose his mother,
accept the father letting go: Blessed is He
who has now freed me
from the responsibility
of this boy. The day my father became a father,
his words wouldn’t come,
only the breath he held
in his hands, words behind his face,
his mouth swaying
forward and back
as if caught: Protect my child from me.
My secret wish
to make him over
in my image and illusions.