Lacunae

by Joan Leotta

I

My dear friend, Arlene,

called in March—

our monthly “catch-up” or

so I thought, until she rushed

past “hello” to shout,

"I lose words!" at me.

Could I restart with hello?

Startled, instead, I groped for

words of comfort that fell

into a silent world on her end,

until she finally hung up.

We tried continuing our calls.

Always now she speaks little

afraid to show what she

cannot recall.

Once, there were so many

words, hours on the phone,

even made-up words,

out own teen lexicography—

fifty years ago.

Through college, marriage,

husbands, words held us

close not matter the space

miles put between us.

Memories recounted,

new experience, better,

brighter for being shared.

II

In June, I heard the new

Spanish song, Despacito.

My mind stalled on the word

I wondered, Is that a new

word? One I never learned?

A South American dialect word?

After all, I lived in Madrid,

spoke Spanish at the

almost native speaker level.

theta and all. I looked it up:

slowly, the same, now and then.

Fifty years ago.

III

There it was, alongside despacio.

In use for centuries,

in Spain and all over.

An ordinary, everyday word—slowly.

I tried to imagine myself

speaking it in Madrid—

Mas despacio por favor—to a cab driver?

Camino muy despacio

cuando estoy cansada,

to a friend walking down

Gran Via after shopping at

El Corte Ingles?

I remember what I had for

dinner at Casa Botin to celebrate

my 21^st birthday

(cuchinillo asado y alcachofas con jamon).

When did despacito fall out

of my Spanish language vocabulary.

Did it leave a hole when it fell away?

Is it now firmly lodged again

filling the slowly lacuna in my brain?

IV

Worst of all, I suspect

other such black holes

have opened in the

verbal expressions of my soul

and worse, more are forming.

More words, entire chunks

of memory will fall off

like slabs of glacier into

a sea of nothingness.

Will disappear.

My fear is that soon lacunae

will stretch wide and far

across the landscape of

my heart and mind,

creating a vast terra cognita

that will swallow me up.

If I have no words

who, how will I be?

* * * * *

Joan Leotta, www.joanleotta.wordpress.com, is an author and story performer. Her books include Giulia Goes to War, Letters from Korea, A Bowl of Rice, Secrets of the Heart, historical fiction in Legacy of Honor Series, Simply a Smile—a collection of short stories, and WHOOSH!—a picture book.