I am language. At first without words.
I’m pictures and movement and sounds.
But quickly they come, only little at first –
adjectives, adverbs and nouns.
Now come the sentences – subjects and verbs,
I’m doing, I’m going, I’m here, I’m there…
I’m playing with words in the garden, the park,
I play with my words everywhere.
Object(s): Words, sounds, rhythms, song.
Paragraphs bloom, and the syllables grow,
the spellings get harder each day.
Devouring books, finding people to talk to,
I often have too much to say.
Hello. Nice to meet you.
My name is Laura.
Where do you live?
What’s your favourite food?
What’s your favourite book?
The ring of the telephone runs up the stairs
and rat-a-tap-taps at my door.
Now I am silence – my language is dead.
I hide it away in a drawer.
Published in Stew (Winter 2015).