In which we wheedled, fussed, and fantasied
The only language in which we can express our anxieties
And perhaps our love
The language in which we cry out
And in which we pray
When we truly pray
✳ ✳ ✳
I have uncurled this language
Cradled it and pincered it
Padded through brambles on its agile feet
Extended its talons when called upon
I have grappled with it on the brutal Earth
Till we could not tell
Its limbs from mine
✳ ✳ ✳
This language will last
Even contorted from contact with people beyond all borders
Its conjugations will twist
Its pronouns tilt
Its dialects adjust their clamps
And still we rhapsodize
Andy Oram
April 25, 2024