First thing about him- his voice.
It fills the car as a husky tenor
or sings you to sleep in a distant memory.

It stretches in a room, grasping for
that unclaimed ear, that sought-for attention,
the next canvas on which to spin his story.

The voice is strong, and it raises
In excitement as he begins another spiel
In frustration when that mess hasn’t been cleaned up yet
In anger as he threatens to sue.

But then it’s there
As a whisper of encouragement
The softest gesture of love
The words behind the strong hands, the loping stride,
The voice he gave to me.