Brianna L. Noll
A mild autism, described as
"backwards wiring" in the brain,
left him in a clouded world of sound.
Lacking the ability to discern
social cues, inflection was monotone,
e's were high-pitched, s's scathing.
Learning to talk was different for him;
he couldn't grasp words at first–
he created a language of sounds,
spoke in onomatopoeia.
Gawa, gawa mimed any sirened
vehicle, toy, or alarm.
In the distance, they whined–
close, he would scrunch his
face, fingers in his ears.
A
dripping faucet inspired
pbbt pbbt pbbt, water's moniker.
We would dance to a beat-up record:
Little Richard singing Tutti Frutti.
My little brother, spasmodic dancer.
big, tiny-toothed grin on his cherubic face,
sang along: "Bop bop bop!"
Maybe it was because
A-wop-bop-a-loo-lop-a-lop-bam-boo
wasn't exactly English,
but he would only dance to that record.
After his third Christmas his sonic mimicry waned.
We all know it would come one day, the English,
the perfect pronunciation, the all over rootie.