Silence

I mothered you, I protected you,
you were my baby, my toy,
so there was no need for you to speak
when, at the dinner table, our mother asked
would you like some green beans
because I would answer, "No thank you,
but he'd like another helping of mashed potatoes."
Years later you assured me I always got it right,
that I was given the power to say what you felt.
But I see it differently
now that you've gone ahead of me into death,
now that it's me left speechless:
we were taking turns.