The baby is working hard at his tasks.

Each kettle, each bowl has its surfaces,

each hollow reflects a special sound.

Will his legs hold him up today?

Will the food on his tray be strange?

Each time he yells, his people respond.

Is this the day his sounds will be words?


His grandmother is working, too.

Her kettle is full of white beans and herbs.

There are harmonies she is trying to remember.

Where will her feet take her?

When she cries, who will hear her?

Laughter is her practice now.

What silence must she hold in her heart?

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