Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2002-08-01 11:10 pm
azurelunatic) wrote2002-08-01 11:10 pm
Poetry.
River never really grokked poetry until I started to demonstrate it to him. Not by looking up poems in a book, but by talking to him on the phone, speaking of the view outside my window. I painted it for him, warm wood frame inside, black crackle birch branch with white snow, cold cold. Soft from the sky falling, down... Cold. Warm and dry, watching.
He never got poetry, not until he heard my voice. Then he started to picture it for himself, the way he heard me say it. I knew I had to be careful. Musn't break the boy's mind; I knew what to say, so I musn't say it. All my feelings, thoughts, could be his too, if I phrased it right. I could speak, and he would feel and believe. Thin chalk sidewalk-line of ethics: break the back.
He never got poetry, not until he heard my voice. Then he started to picture it for himself, the way he heard me say it. I knew I had to be careful. Musn't break the boy's mind; I knew what to say, so I musn't say it. All my feelings, thoughts, could be his too, if I phrased it right. I could speak, and he would feel and believe. Thin chalk sidewalk-line of ethics: break the back.