mute

when i was 7 i discovered the mute button--

held the remote out like a wand--
separated sound from the room--

where did their voices go on the television
screen as the news caster discussed 
the recession & the threat of hurricanes--

tongues meet in the rafters of
the garage like birds-- 

feral cats telling secrets on 
the concrete stood 

i banished mouths

i sent our names into exile--

i took the remote with me
to school in my blue & yellow
back pack & sly pointed it
at teachers--

eradicating their voices--

oh stone her-- she's 
playing hop-scotch alone--

that's me under the maple tree
where the caterpillars are
fat & wearing over coats--

i turn the sounds of recess
on & off with the red 
button at the top of the grey remote--

no one seems to notice but me--

i bask in flickering silences--

the kind of ballet of mouths
opening with no noise--

Clay skinned his knee & 
no one heard him holler until
i took him off mute

for a moment i crouched there--
dirty-knees in the shadow blanket
of the tree wondering

if i should let him scream--

i felt god-like

taller than a swing-set--

how tempting it must be for
god to not extract all sound from
our landscapes--

silent film-- we'd turn black & white 

he wouldn't do it forever--

just so he could rest--

taking warbler throats in mason jars--
wind chimes in a bouquet by 
heaven's front door--

he would probably hesitate 
before muting 
my mother's dissonant 
kumbaya as she rocked back & forth
at the side of my bed--

i was 4 & i now i'm 
too old to remember what her voice
sounded like in the capsule of
my bedroom--

night light eats us--

car tires in the rain
make no hush--

what sound does a candle make?

when i came home from school that 
day i set the remote
back on the coffee table 

took a step back--

went into the bathroom
to test out the function of
my own voice

singing "Yellow Submarine"

my soft lady-bug tongue--

swarming--

fogging up the mirrors--

don't mute me god

i know i can be difficult
but look at all this sound in me