Statement for the End of Language

I like to sit & watch the weather
slip between the spaces in the leaves.

I’m relearning the sounds of old voices –
my mother now the distant clink

of a glass set down on concrete. My father
the burn of cigar’s paper crinkling

to the blaze. I spend a minute waiting
for a cloud to inch into the space

I have set aside for it. What dominion
do I keep other than my own? I read

an article that said we are only
a few decades away from controlling

the simplest things with our minds,
no longer bound to movement & sound

to make the fire burst from stove, to switch
the light on. I cannot pass judgment

on what I don’t already know, but let me say this.
If that day comes, I will dedicate at least

an hour’s worth of time to remind myself
of sun, the perpetual rhythmic turning

of a world that gives us life & takes it
away, sometimes violent, sometimes shrill

with heartbreak, sometimes the brush of leaves
blowing over the dead. I will sit in my own isolation,

mouthing words I would otherwise forget:
love, thanks, feel, yes, no, please, please, please.

 

By Devin Kelly

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