It’s nothing special, it happens all the time --
hearing a lovely familiar voice.
Normally the thought doesn’t intrude,
but, really, we are listening to the dead!
Recorded sound is delivered to my ears.
It arrived this afternoon as a sacred moment.
I was relishing the lovely feminine voice
emoting over a pop classic from my youth.
I had collected CD cuts of her singing.
I heard the turntable change to another silver plate,
a classic by Handel, voiced by a different soprano.
Both lovely voices will never again be heard “live”:
‘though celebrated, both died young before their time;
yet today, as if revived and resurrected,
still communicated life and living emotion.
Should I light a candle? Lift up a prayer?
A memory parade came marching through my brain.
I heard my brother’s laugh, my sister’s giggle,
Mother’s strident Nordic brogue
and Dear Elaine’s harmonizing
on our Once Upon a Memory disc.
What hath God wrought with such miracle means
allowing us to listen to the dead?
Might my voice even be heard someday
after I leave the living?
Might someone then light a candle? Lift up a prayer?
