The Word Beautiful

by Velyn Lee

 

The word beautiful is quite a mouthful.

A gush of sounds

that you can’t quite wrap your mouth around.

Its nine letters strain

against the opening,

pushing, kicking;

eager to hear the sound of its own name,

spoken aloud, for the first time.

 

Spindly spines burgeon into

bulbous bulbs, bottoms bounteously

cupped, bent

into the limber curves

of ‘b’ and ‘t’,

or ‘f’, when flipped for fun.

The lonely ladies ‘e’, ‘a’, ‘you’ are left

facing the stiff bachelored backs

of ‘i’ and ‘l’. I’ll bet they never have any fun.

They refuse to fuse,

and trail in the wake of the winners,

who swell even more (with pride)

filling my mouth.

 

I say it slowly.

I savour the sideward stretch

on the skin

of my lips,

as it thins

with the buzz

of the first ‘bee’.

I watch my lips spring back

like a rubber band,

contract

into the outline

of a tiny raised fist.

Pouted lips kiss out

the next ‘you’.

 

Then tongue presses against teeth

to tease out air

through the narrow slit.

‘Tea’ is served in breaths

like these.

 

Now, I will let the teeth relax,

sink them into the flesh of my lower lip,

and push.

The unformed ‘f’ sound

foreshadows the effort

it will take,

to fling the final ‘fool’

into the world,

after it has grown heavy

in my mouth,

with nine letters of waiting.

 

The word finally leaves my body

with a lingering echo,

to take on meaning

on its own two feet.

Beautiful is the child I whisper it to.