The Silent Singer

The girls sang better than the boys,

their voices reaching All the way to God,

Sister Ann Zita insisted during those

     practice sessions

when I was told to mouth do, re, mi,

     but to go no higher,

when I was told to stand in back

    and form a perfect 0

        with my lips

although no word was ever to come out,

the silent singer in that third-grade

     class

during the Christmas Pageant and Easter

     Week, the birth and death

        of Christ lip-synched

            but unsung        

while my relatives, friends and parents

     praised my baritone,

     how low my voice was,

Balancing those higher, more childlike tones,

     my father said,

Adding depth, my mother said,

Thank God they had my huskiness to bring all

     that tinniness to earth,

     my great-aunt whispered,

so I believed for many years in miracles

     myself,

the words I'd never sung reaching their ears

     in the perfect pitch, the perfect tone,

while the others stuttered in their all-too-human

     voices to praise the Lord.

 

Len Roberts, The Silent Singer (University of Illinois Press, 2000)