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 […]