Word Music
I love the sounds words make:
like nonchalant, my favourite,
onomatopoeic to a tee -
I say it as often as I can
and no one seems to mind.
Yet when I say
voluntary euthanasia,
that lyrical term of release,
a hush settles in the room -
the air is leaden, postures stiffen,
talk is trapped in an awkward pause.
So I fill it
with phrases I've come to love.
What about 'die with dignity'?
What abut 'plan your valediction',
'be at peace'?
These lilt with alliteration,
captivate with assonance.
Vo-lun-ta-ry eu-tha-na-sia:
its measure is rhythmic, trochaic;
a powerful prayer, a refrain
if I say it - now and again.
(There, that's nonchalant.)
Other poems by Liz McQuilkin
Five Senses of Distaste
Last Day of Leave
Retirement
The Bride