A baby’s first cry is its first word,
in a language we have forgotten.
Days of months, months of years will pass
as it learns the world of its family,
the words, the turns of phrase, the tone
through which it will filter all other words.
A baby’s first word is colossal,
a jubilation, a reckoning, all in one.
Too soon it learns to forget the first tongue,
the one of unfiltered emotions,
of the joy and the pain
of being sundered from the womb,
the voice of the blood rushing, and the heart-
beating always around it; its own heart
answering the echo muffled by fluid,
warm and rocked softly in the glow
of flesh-filtered light and dream.
A baby’s first word heralds
Its journey towards community.
Doors may open more swiftly than wisely,
the newly sprung words mostly kind,
but as the vessel grows, it becomes thirsty,
sponges up the world outside, and full,
releases its growing burden at home.
Tears are one part of the process.
For the rest, trust must fill in the blanks,
and love, make the message clear.
Forgiveness reveals the diamond drops within.
A baby’s first word transforms
it’s dreams into an action.
It stacks bright coloured blocks on the floor,
building its houses and cars and towers,
guarding them fiercely lest someone
knock them all down, before it does.
This word, an unspoken first declaration
of independence, of me, of mine.
Lessons of control and helplessness,
and the difference between them.
A baby’s first word informed
by subtler forms of influence.
LMC – 2023