Baby Sign Language

We learn to twist hands, palm papering palm, to signal cheese. Motion cow udder squeezed for milk. Look at us catching on with greater ease than expected. Then again, it’s baby sign language. Even a baby, all thick weight, small animal sound can do it. We wait for him, secure bureau to wall, cook, clean. Imagine which parts of ourselves he will love or loathe, already aware that we are designed to be outgrown. To be waved goodbye to in a language he’s learned on his own. To decipher motion / into sound / into meaning through string and can from a distance. 

Laura Vrcek mostly writes about triumphant family love. Her poetry and nonfiction have appeared in Coal Hill Review, Entropy Magazine, The Fourth River, sPARKLE & bLINK, Mother Mag, and on KQED’s Perspectives. With Northern California as her backdrop and the rust belt at her roots, she is writing her first book. Laura has an MFA in Creative Writing from Chatham University of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and lives and works in the San Francisco Bay Area as a content editor. Read her essays at www.lauravrcek.com. 

A Song for Laura