A Language of Her Own


This one will be a scientist 
or perhaps a poet, 
filling her journal with precise 
painstakingly rendered symbols  
from a language she invented  
in which she alone is fluent. 

For she has stories to tell 
and truth to proclaim, 
and will not wait on 
anything so unnecessary 
as learning to read or write 
when she has her runes. 
Looking over her shoulder at the runes,
pages and pages of runes.

Poem Notes: One of our granddaughters wanted to write so badly that she devised her own written language, filling several journals when she was 5 or 6 years old. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that both of her parents are high school English teachers and one of her grandfathers is a poet. This is the same granddaughter with whom I once had the following conversation.

“Boppa, why do you write so much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just like to because writing is fun; right?”

That sums it up pretty well.

Subscribe to be notified of new posts by email; it’s free. *
Leave a comment so I know you were here.
Please tell a friend about this blog.

*Emails may be delivered to social or spam folders.

A new poem every Monday!