A little girl, Bee learns a new language Poem by Kreek Daey Ouwens

A little girl, Bee learns a new language
at school. Words she did
not know existed, are much softer
than the dialect of her birthplace.
‘Violin. Shadow. Echo.' She discovers
a barrel of secrets. Not just the name,
but also the appearance of things
changes. ‘Mother' becomes a
big lady. Words touch on a
deep longing in herself about which,
she might already know, there's little is to be
done. A daydreaming, an inexplicable
stiring, a language which
takes the breath away. Snow twinkles, a river is
silent, a waterfall crashes down,
lightning strikes. Bee takes the books
home and reads them at the kitchen table.
In the same space her brothers
and sisters play. There is a zinc tub
where her mother is doing the washing. Slosh.
The slop of a mop. When Bee
reads out the words her voice
changes. She picks up the book and goes
outside with it. Leaving the others with
strange impressions. She knows it.

The snow-covered grass twinkles in
the sunlight. A gossamer fine feather
sticks with its point into the frozen ground. Bee pulls it
out. Its point breaks off. With the stump
she draws lines in the snow. The lines interrelate,
as if automatically, become
letters. She bends so often, so deep
as to get dizzy. The feather in her hands
seems to come to life, a small bird, the
lone witness of silent letters.
Silence. That is silence. Covered
with snow and ice.