By Susan Weissman

Her eyes held the sheen of yesterday's panic

Recollecting over her wine glass rim.

Her son. Her son. Her son had two operations. Two.

And heard his first raindrops last night.

I don't understand, he kept saying. I don't understand.

She told him it was a sound, that it had the name, that it had a reason.

But she could not say how it was

That his doctors called out every beast --

Delays, Impaired Functions, Autism

But they did not see that it was the raindrops he could not hear.

What do I do with that? She asks me where do I put it? I need to put it somewhere.

Here.

Let's put it down here.

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