Baby Talk
glimpse a child’s blasé rending of dimensions witness the shape-shifting delight of a toddler shouting to her mother: ‘mama it’s Mickey Mouse!’ shame on eyes that cannot see cartoon ears sprouting from the grain at wooden interlock of hexagonal cocktail tables in a hotel lobby
savor squeal of 3-year-old granddaughter high in a playground swing & her unstrained dismissal of chronology:
‘when you were little I used to push you on the swing’
aha to the brash logic of her 4-year-old cousin:
‘I think I’m fast, then I know I’m fast’
childhood is fragrance not my destination
my see saw made of precision & revelations in the night
my lover’s fetal curl & breathing under cover of urban darkness
mi sueño spiced by lost attempts to make meaning from our baby talk
Mi susurro unfolding
Monk on Mysterioso
Lord have mercy of daddy’s imaginary keynote at
million man march salsa of tires prowling streets soaked by sudden rain
timbales on the canopy sheltering the midnight hour
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I can hear you reading this Peter, always a jazz like rhythm.
Great work my friend.