for Rachel

– By J.S. Porter 

 

I like my poetry pure

and simple.

 

Bug a boo, I love you.

 

That’s my daughter talking

to her soon- to- be-four son.

 

Perfect one- line poem,

three syllables before the comma and three after.

 

And maybe that’s how poetry begins

in every culture, every time:

a mother sings or whispers to a child

and the child’s body takes the words in.

The child claps or sways, hums along,

and repeats the words                      and repeats the words

so he becomes a poet too.