“Do you think words have answers?” I asked.

“It depends on your questions,” said Byrd. “But…you should know that there are some things for which there are no answers, no matter how beautiful the words may be.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Words,” said Papa, softly. “Did you know that words have a life? They travel out into the air with the speed of sound, a small life of their own, before they disappear. Like the circles that a rock makes when it’s tossed into the middle of the pond.”

—Patricia MacLachlan, Baby

Words. Patricia MacLachlan is gifted in using a very few but poignant words to tell her stories. You may notice that a few wise words of hers inspired the title of my blog, in part, and now accompany that title. MacLachlan’s works are generally short, which is sometimes just what my attention span needs when not ready to handle a thicker tomb. What her books lack in measurable weight they make up for in intangible weight through the big, deep truths she shares through the lives —and words— of characters we believe from the first page are as real as we are.

Baby is 132 pages (in my edition) brimming with these subtle truths. We meet a family bitterly bruised by grief and still unable to put words to their dark sadness. This lack of words adds to the pain of of young Larkin who doesn’t understand why her mother and father will not talk with her about the death of her baby brother. The family, including Larkin’s grandmother, Byrd, are given a gift in the form of a baby named Sophie, left in a basket on their driveway. Caring for and coming to love Sophie gently ignites the slow process of converting their private thoughts about their shared pain into the words necessary to begin that crucial sharing.

How often in our own lives do we struggle to find words, or the bravery to use them, to share our most intense emotions. I know in my own life, when I close off words I gradually close off myself. I become afraid of using the wrong words. Sometimes it is right to use no words rather than the wrong words; sometimes we do have to stop ourselves and rethink raw words ready to escape our mouths. Sometimes we need to be willing to use even awkward words, when we don’t know quite where to start. If we don’t start somewhere, we don’t start. Sometimes, written words are where I begin — my brain can often communicate with my fingers more effectively than with my tongue. The challenge with written communication is a lack of voice or expression, although when reading words others send me via text or email, I often supply a voice in my mind. Isn’t it marvelous how poets are able to transcend this challenge? The pathway or invitation to words can sometimes begin by that expression, those locked eyes, or simply a touch.

Words. They don’t always have answers, and silence can be inexpressibly comfortable when shared by two who are also open to using words. Words can be used with and without care. They can hurt and they can caress. They can be ugly as easily as beautiful. Always, words have a life. What influence, like the tossed rock’s circles in the pond, do I want my words to create in the lives of those who hear them?