Not yet able to articulate the letter S,
my son substitutes F instead.
Some of the words translate
as something recognizable –
silly becomes filly,
sun becomes fun,
suck becomes fuck – more difficult
to swallow, but how can I deter him
when his fingers keep him
from feeling fared in the night?
Other words emerge entirely new.
Scoop becomes foop,
sing becomes fing.
Fometimes I labor to understand,
begging for clues, for context.
Too many questions, and his face contorts
as if I am the one feaking
in the wrong tongue.
We’re all just one letter off
from another language, teetering
between layers of clarity,
poised to put a new angle
on our narratives.
Imagine if we abandoned
our commitment to consonants
and other linguistic particulars,
listened past the noise
into the filence of meaning.