The Word Whisperer
Once upon a time, in a jewel box by the sea,
Lived a Word Whisperer named Lisa, and her magnificent cat, Rumi.
She spent her days writing, teaching, reading and seeking,
Believer in the power of words: transforming, listening, and speaking.
Then one day, a bleak plague came across the land,
Trumpet tears, Covid fears, all went hand in hand.
She lost her direction, taste, even her sense of smell,
How to gather up those pieces, what story now to tell.
It was a time of stupor, a time of feeling of stuck,
Bogged down in all of the rhetorical guck,
But wait, her daughter Colette was pregnant,
How to bless and gift the expectant?
Lisa thumped her chest, set off on a quest, Rumi at her side,
And she met these particular muses, on the by and by,
Invited to a quilting bee for the softest lullaby,
Woven from yet unspoken gossamer sighs.
Sitting for a spell, these spelling bees,
Notebooks on their laps, pen caps between their knees,
Doubled and further multiplied,
Zoom in, zoom out, perspectives diversified.
The Word Whisperer moved her hands, harvesting silk,
Invoking the muses, aware of her ilk,
Chanting under the big dipper, creating her circles,
Resources, Sorceresses, composting rose petals.
There at the threshold, slowly she began to build power,
Delicious minutes, savoring every hour,
Mindful of the moments, creating her altar.
Ensuring her words would never falter.
Lighting a match to inspire the stubborn candle,
Eagle feather to let go of what one can no longer handle,
Taking the time for name tags, a basket of release,
A ritual writing of kumquats, hope, and soft grief.
Lisa listened as her muses sang of a heart shaped stones,
Embroidered cat tails and daiquiri ice cream cones,
Collected cat whiskers and a lost earring or two,
A Peace Angel mended with heart, tears, and gorilla glue.
Five stones in clear reflecting bowls,
Helping the Word Whisperer to reach her goals,
Thanking each of her muses with a sigh,
Now she had the unmasked gold for her lullaby.
She had the threads, she knew what to do,
Just how to breathe and weave them through,
Though the years go by too fast, the winter night is too long,
She knew her magic is good, her magic is strong.
Knocking her wrists together three times,
Hearing the last of the second chime,
Holding the lotus, fingers blossoming true,
Now go write your story, We have sung to you…
The Word Whisperer let her lullaby sail,
Rumi said, this is the end of my magnificent tail…
So bid adieu, thank you for the tears and laughter,
And they all wrote,
Happily Ever After.
Kayla Garnet Rose, Crow Moon 2023