To Be Without Words

2 09 2012

Yawn. Crunch. Block the noise. Remember scenes of nonverbal experience—pure being.
Straight thick coffee brown hair falls against her small shoulders louder than any word she might speak. Her wide bright blue eyes seem to never blink—perhaps it’s in fear or maybe wonder.  Savannah speaks of silence and screams. Her mouth opens ad touches the grungy volleyball. Her mouth asks questions through touch. The mouth is not an orifice for logical orations. Her lips are her fingers—a third hand. Darting back and forth as if powered by a defunct remote control, Savannah skirts the flying balls. Maybe she’s magnetic—it’s a miracle the other student’s balls don’t’ hit her. She runs around the gym in orbit. One day she’ll become a shooting star and fall away into our world.




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