she spoke slowly in words measured
by the gauge of the things that she knew.
she held them up to the light
to see if they truly shined.
she was dazzled by the sparkle
of the words that came in song.
she could never truly tell
if she understood what they meant.
she tried her voice out many different ways.
tasting texture and tone.
she needed to see if she could recognize
them by name, passing over her lips.
she opened her mouth and they all fell out
spilling on to the floor.
puzzle pieces, rainbow splash
she had discovered a whole new world.
in perfect form, like poetry.
she began to tell her tale.
in metaphor, in simile,
in a style unlike anyone else.
she captured the imagination
she took her readers to a place.
where they could see the world
from her uniquely gifted eye.
she could pull your heartstrings slowly
or strike them like a chord.
causing a reaction
that could you shake you from within.
she is honest to a fault with words
yet with a poet’s gentle touch.
pretty words, telling painful tales
of growth and pain and life.
her voice rises and falls
changing pitch and tone.
the impact of the words
flexing their intensity.
listening to the texture
you can hear the subtle change.
the words again take on measured steps
and she is quiet once again.
silently I listen for words
that I hope will come again.
for the simple gift of reading and feeling
her beautifully woven tales.