“…We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider…”
Excerpt from Praise Song for the Day ~ Elizabeth Alexander
Where Do Her Words Go?
Do they merge with all the other words ~
smooth verbs at the cocktail hour,
bubbling, barbecue babble,
or do they whisper through the equinox ~
emerald-green dusky words
dissipating into starlight?
Where do her words go?
Do they course over a spiny mountain range,
nestle in juniper snags, bridge
like rainbows and trailing blackberries,
or are they slammed in car doors,
rushed along freeways of unknown destinations?
Do her words drift like puffs of Black cottonwood ~
summer snow that lands on the very one
who needs her words the most?
Or do they randomly swim
like those squiggly black lines
behind the closed eyes of the sunbather?
She feels responsible
for these words that come to her
on light-rays, sound and shock waves,
from nerve endings and heartbeats,
weighty little words to consider,
words wanting a wide embrace
Where do her words go?
On yellow freesia vibrations
to pollinate years from here?
Her words, quaint and queer,
are merely a stone’s throw in a river ~
who knows how far the ripples go?
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