A word, swirling, swinging, and twisting on their cardboard signs.
One moment making sense and in the blink of an eye they vanish.
Large words shouting as they sling by like a suit on the rails at the dry cleaners.
Small, itty, bitty words that, even with a squinted eye, can’t be made out.
What to do with these words?
Sometimes they form a beautiful, crystal clear sentence that I re-read over and over, it pleases me so.
Others, with a tremendous sigh, bring a frown to my face—they’re just so out of place.
A chuckle escapes when a few words dance by singing. They’re so happy I want to jump and shout and join in their Congo line.
Doom and gloom crept up behind me and their angry, dark clouds appeared overhead—then clapped the thunder and rain poured down.
Drowning, drowning, all the words are drowning and no one can save them.
Spinning, spinning, they’re at it again, jumping up and saying pick me, pick me.
How to choose from so many colours, sounds, shapes, lengths and sizes?
Which ones to use to soothe—to convey compassion, love, and caring?
They hold me hostage until I release them one at a time, like a baby grasping your finger.
Hold on, hold on, I’m releasing you into the world, just now.
May you touch, caress, and love them all—words.