The other day the 6 year old girl that I watch overheard her brother talking to the video game screen, “Hasta la vista, Baseball!” She came to me her eyes filled with wonder. After she recited the phrase with a hallowed reverence, she was visibly confused when I was not blown away. It’s hard to tell what it was about the words that fascinated her so much; perhaps it was their exotic sound or just the way it felt in her mouth to say it. All I know is that for the next half an hour, she ran around the house chanting to herself, “hastalavistabaseball, hastalavistabaseball, hastalavisatabaseball.”
When I write poetry, I try to remember the sounds of the words matter just as much as their meaning. It is a struggle, and I am often more intent on getting my ideas across. Perhaps I ought to enter into the world of words as one must enter the kingdom: as a child. All this to say, if you see me galloping around the room repeating the Jabberwocky over and over, you will know why.