Stolen. I didn’t know at the time
that this was our last conversation.
I turned my back and our words were gone.
I don’t remember what they were.
Now scattered, loose change upon the floor,
I desperately long to gather them up,
investigate every corner and search
the dark places until all are found.
Mutely, you stare at me. I’m sure,
inside, there’s much that you would say but,
vocabulary snatched, expression stilled,
that chance has gone and I am dumb.
As a child, before my speech was born,
I used to bang my head upon
the wall in frustration. I fear that you
now feel the pain that I felt then.
What would I have said if I had known?
Something profound? A nervous joke?
It’s strange. Your silence breeds more silence
and without reply my words dry up.
Mother and son, we search each other’s
eyes hoping that we might find those
missing coins. I leave uncertain,
praying you heard the words unsaid.
Written after a recent visit.
(22.03.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Napendra Singh on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 