Standing ovation for the letter M

You could say the world’s a cradle that rocks either side of the equator,
a swing of sound controlled by maternal pushing, a continual cooing.
When I was small, the letter ‘em’ changed profile all the time.
M begins with ‘e’ when your mouth first opens: ‘eh-m’
and slips to mi, ‘m-ee’, then Mic-kee. Later I added Mouse.
In a word, Mummy, was my first true mouth shape.
Simplicity ticks inside the classics of anyone’s language,
my universe of literacy, an irreversible minefield.
An accent brings a word to stumpy knees.
Martyr, many hindsights after, may be confused with Mater,
Mater, with matter. This mattered to me because I could not hear.

A leaf before dying has weight: it rustles, whirls, frisks, cracks and floats,
& lands like a curve, a circle, or the dash, or sometimes a question mark.
Words like grab-bag, half caste innovations, engorge the language stream.
Add a to M, lip sync the result before or after the fact. Ma or Am.
The lists grows with any combination you may ruminate upon.
Could that be rum-inate? A question. Does rum rhyme with run or room?
Practice perfects, and the text reinforces all stories to the deaf.
Believe me!
Here, my mea culpa to the world: mou; mai; mao & mea
clothed in mouth, maid, maui and moat, mean much more.
More is more, not less, when the cohorts are called up.
Then, a leaf whispers visibly like a haunt with a secret to tell,
secrets even I can hear.
In a tiny crevice of perception a mellifluous sound
lies trapped,
a stealth soul tucked inside my ear.
Do not listen to red herrings; they distract.
A squad of nineteen consonants shoves terrestrials into flesh suits
but words will meander. Mellow, mercury and metric expand and flex.
Play detective, as I do, with lips.
I want to hear the leaf that floats.
Excuse me, would you repeat that last spiky word with the round ending;
Hah! microphone. Delete telephone, Cote de Rhone and I’m afraid to be alone.
Confusion configures a mastery to unravel.
The bone I pick with slippery words concerns me only.
Tussling for clarity means everything to Me.
M! Let’s hear applause for your perfect shape.
You, who rise out of mouths and tell yourself to Me.
Then, only then, are you mine alone.



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