Uh-Oh

I never knew I could fall in love

with the word uh-oh. The way 

it sprouts throughout our home: 

under a chair, beside the exposed 

kitchen pantry, hanging off the edge 

of the mist-colored couch, resting

on the back of our milk drenched 

calico cat, or in the middle 

of a literary festival reading. 

Its beautiful unearthed roots tied to

an unopenable box, a stuffed bunny

fallen, a bus flipped over or a spill 

of lunch eaten by the dog. The two 

sounds hold hands as they bump 

and stumble into toddler-sized 

experiences. Both sit together 

to watch and listen; to anticipate 

when to take over the room

and make their presence known, 

to experiment with pitches, 

and discover the will of effect. 

What happens when one bites

into the peel of a clementine?

What happens when one bites 

into the arm of a parent: a ripple

of high-pitched staccato notes 

to delight in. A composition 

to study and learn like the very

first uttering of uh-oh. A gathering

of keys that have always been

around me like chairs and trees

and birds and windows. A sound

in the background–always waiting

to be used for an occasion, but one 

I never held so close–one I tug along

as I walk slower through this life.