The world had been colourless

before she began to read.

Afterwards, photographs took on a new hue,

memories burned with the intensity

of cloudless sunshine on waves,

and every faces and pair of hands

looked new, like gifts;

each palm had a story to tell,

each pair of eyes

had seen villains and queens,

or both, shipwrecks and battles

on the plains of their skin,

in their reflection,

in the seas in their chest.

Words taught her the weight

a voice can anchor

and how nimbly it can shift

galaxies, tears and the secrets

closed behind the doors

in a stranger’s heart.

Words taught her conviction,

how to keep promises

and set free her desire to breathe

in beauty and heartache,

in grand landscapes, forests

and hidden stairways to attics.

The world gained an artist

when she began to read

and write in purples, yellows and greens;

revealing to the…