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…
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