When my grandson turned 2, I realized: That’s the same age I was at his age. Probably true for you as well. All three of us made it this far.
It makes me think of poetry. I am planning a chapbook of poems. I might even publish it someday. I thought of calling it “Dammit! Let’s Get Moving!”
Here’s the opening gambit…
growing bolder by the minute
pulls at his internal voice
in touch with greater magnitude
his eye spies all that catches
light, whether furry, scratchy,
smooth, or bright, sends him
reeling like the top that spins
and wobbles to the ground
his attention gathering power
tasting this and chewing that
filling up his insides with the sounds
pushing all toward his surface
“look out” “don’t touch” “stop that”
he might explode, instead
the words he’s heard a hundred times
come out, “Dammit!”
August 27, 2014
First words set a tone. They pull a theme toward the life we will live. Or perhaps, reveal the mystery of who we are.
Does this revelation come from the seeds our progenitors sow? Is it a gurgle in the stream of our existence? Or the bedrock we set our visceral structure upon?
First words set the tone for life.
What were yours?