Word Play

My bedroom is a veritable paradise of play.

Even when empty, every stimulus –
weighty word or petty onomatopoeia –
becomes speech,
becomes verse,
becomes rhyme, limerick,
ode to another moment:

my door is an emotional treasury
of greetings and goodbyes,
my pillows whisper whimsical words,
my bed springs screech an anaphora of ecstatic phrases,
my walls are white space silence,
each corner a volta;

and so my closet is filled with songs,
my drawers are filled with poems,
and my life is filled with sound.

NS 11.04.09