Was there a lilt in her voice when she laughed?
Would she croon lullabies before I slept?
I can't hear her voice in her photographs -
those precious mementos where memory's kept.

I can see the playfulness in her smile,
her shapely legs crossed sitting on our swing,
her glow when my sister walked down the aisle,
but still, not a single photograph sings.

If her voice could cut through the still silence
of poses held motionless so many years,
would she whisper some long-lost confidence
she'd always intended for just my ears?

If photographs could only speak to me,
I wonder what my mother's words would be.