Let the words spill from your lips
As you stumble over
Singular (Just like you, and like
Wilting as they age
Shrinking into themselves as they are
Looked at less and less,
No longer picked up off the shelves.
Lime green bowlers gather dust
As feathered boas linger longingly
On clothes racks behind large wardrobes
And your beloved storybooks
Once dragged along to every place
They weren’t allowed to be
(Like in the bath tub, before you got caught that one time and dropped the book in nervousness, into the simmering, shiny surfaced water).
Ragged around the edges,
Their narratives no longer voiced
Aloud each night
Their self-contained murmurs
Slowly decreasing as they stop conversing
With curious minds.
Speak the stories into the air,
Let your tongue tangle through terrifyingly long sentences
Let the books breathe
A sigh of relief