Dana Rice's Poetry Collection
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The Singing Baby
Copyright © 2003 Dana Lynné Rice, All Rights Reserved
I put some soothing music on the CD player,
a variety of recordings, to play in succession
My task, to watch the 3-month old baby
while his parents are out.
I carefully choose soft instrumentals,
mostly classical,
thinking I'll not disturb his play.
Lying on his back, he swats at an overhead arc of toys -
bells, rattles,
things his parents carefully and lovingly chose.
They know he enjoys them
because they make sound.
He loves toys that make sound.
He finds his favorite, a sleigh bell, and rings it -
not hurriedly, on a steady rhythm,
listening to each ring
as if tasting his favorite food.
Suddenly, the baby stops playing
with his favourite toy.
A Mozart piece is playing on the stereo.
He looks around in awe and wonder,
listening to the music,
and he starts singing.
He's 3 months old, and he's singing to Mozart.
I stare, considering any explanations
other than the one I'm witnessing.
He sings.
First he sings with trumpets
then violins
then french horns.
I hum along, softly,
the music drawing me out of my astonishment.
It's one my own favorite french horn parts.
For several minutes until the piece ends,
we share this music.
The next piece playing is from a different composer.
The baby goes back to his bell toys.
I sit motionless, taking it all in.
This moment, this child, this seeming miracle.
What does the future hold
for a 3-month old singing baby?
Joy, wonder, appreciation
for things in life that most tune out,
for sounds that many never hear,
and magic that I had forgotten.
I say a silent prayer.
Whatever the future holds,
please let the music keep ringing
and singing
in this baby's heart.
Thank you, baby Matthew.
* from Dana *
for Matthew K. Martinez
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Copyright © 2003 Dana Lynné Rice, All Rights Reserved
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