Where Does Sound Travel?
for David Zeledón
by Margaret Fleming
In Texas, I stand by a baby monitor,
audio waves and linens move in unison.
I watch her chest until I am convinced
she is no longer breathing, her sighs quiet.
I run upstairs to catch the wind in her body.
If this world heard
the way a mother hearkens
to her child—would it listen?
On TV, a Nicaraguan woman carries water
in a milk jug, dumping it on a masked man’s
face. Liquid bullets shower the hot cement.
The Nicaragüenses who taught me to […]