I Read a Poem Out Loud

Dear Delyara, It changed the room. All week my ears had been full of practical language — reminders, tasks, prices, school instructions, work questions, ordinary life. Useful language. Necessary language. Dead language, in a certain way. Then I read a poem out loud to myself in the kitchen. Beautiful language in my own voice felt almost medicinal. It reminded me that I still belong to something other than function. That my mind is not only for scheduling and coping. That feeling does not always have to be processed through efficiency. It was only one poem. It gave me back more than one moment.