What Could a Word Hold

 What could a word hold

if you gave it a chance.

Could it contain a string

of memories and meanings,

like a bag of candy on

Halloween.  This one is from

the Smiths at the end of the

street who have a son name

Joey who plays army with me

on the weekends and lets me

sleep over.  That one is from 

Nana next door who lets me 

stay at her house everyday 

after school - milk and cookies 

and a big swing set out back.  

Might colors and music be 

hidden deep inside, escaping 

with a burst like a calliope or a 

fireworks display. First a cymbal 

crash and a pipe organ.  Next

a fountain of endless blues and

silver.  

Or do they already harbor

those associations within, just

beyond reach if we do not

listen, ruminate, and pause.  Giving

ample space for their dimensions

to unfurl.  Like the flags of countless

nations fallen limp until the great

gusts of wind grab them and 

twirl them into dances.  

It takes great sweeps of time to 

press the juice out of a word.  

Little by endless little; pressing,

always for more.  Until.  Until

the cup is full, the hint exposed,

the meaning grasped firmly and

that inner self sated and content.

Place all your intent in every word,

and pause - always for an instant or

more if you may - to soak up what

hides in the corner of every letter.

What could a word hold

if you gave it a chance.