Losing a Voice in Summer

126 Losing a Voice in Summer John Stone How many parts rumble it was how much gravel dark, light I don't remember and it won't echo for me from the shower stall though sometimes off the porch calling my own sons for supper I can almost almost hear it as if you had let it go out of the corner of your mouth like a ventriloquist without a dummy. I have no recording otherwise I would play you in the shower, repeat you off the porch from the cat-walk of the glass factory have you sing Go Down Moses over and over and tonight with the reluctant sentence deep in my head at the hoarsest hour, dumb and laryngitic and alone I first understand how completely I have lost your voice, father, along with my own. ...