My house has many sounds, but not every voice can hear these sounds for what they are.

The sound of Henry’s crying,
oh God, please not the sound of Henry’s crying.
The sound of my father’s heavy footsteps,
his sound of anger and frustration.
The sound of Henry’s screaming,
the sound of pure fear.
The sound of my father’s hit,
oh please not the sound of his mighty palm.
The sound of my father’s monstrous feet,
retreating.
The sound of my light, nurturing feet, running to Henry's rescue, as if I was his favorite superhero who came to life.
The sound of Henry’s disbelief,
silence.
The sound of my lullabies, soothing like a bubble bath, steadily rocking him back to consciousness.
The sound of his peaceful yet interrupting sleep,
coughing from his left over tears.

But, he can only be protected for so long.

The sound of the priest.
The sound of his favorite toy, a rocket as red as the roses laying next to him, slowing being placed with him,
for eternity.
The sound of family member’s kisses on my cheeks.
The sound of detached condolences, as though they couldn’t have helped.
The sound of his new permanent crib,
being lowered into the Earth’s core.

The sound of an empty beer bottle smacking the floor, as though this collision mimics my father’s outlet for his anger.
The sound of my heavy, fearful stomps,
sprinting from my death.
The sound of my sturdy wooden door, slamming for my protection.
The sound of my frightened body hitting the floor, diving for temporary shelter in my room’s corner.
The sound of his cruel fist, striking the barrier between my new fate and my room's corner.

But, I can only hide for so long.

The sound of Henry’s crying,
steadily rocking me to unconsciousness, steadily rocking me towards him
and to his newly found home...

My father listening to
the sound of the priest.

The sound of the voiceless, the sound of,
us.