Quo Vadis (Where Y'all Goin'?)

Many of the wonderful words in the English language have roots in Latin: celestial navigation, conservatory gardens, unknown quantity, madrigal feast, desert isle. It occurred to me that Latin is also the precursor of text messaging. For instance, take the phrase e pluribus unum. "Out of many, one." e frees up space that "out" would need. That makes me think of, "Three strikes, you're e." Fiat Lux could be shorthand for, "Turn on the light!" (Not an exact translation). Then there's amo, amas, amat, one word verbs which include who is verbing. Quo vadis could easily replace, "Where are you going, dude?" Personally, I don't favor text messaging. It took too long for me to learn how to spell perambulator, vermilion, participle, and ridiculous. I'm still learning. Recently, I misspelled adviser. I wrote, "Advisor." Now-- I'd like to know why we can have tutors, authors, senators but not advisors. I'm guessing it's one of those, "I before E except after C" tricks of the grammarians' trade. It's interesting how the original crop of Latin seeds spread across the world to become the romance lingoes of Portuguese (which my mother called Spanish with a French accent) French, Italian, Spanish and Esperanto. This leads me to a poem I wrote in the days before i-anything. It's about summer and homework and theories:

~~~~~~~~~~

California, 1979

Jenny is at the picnic table doing her homework.

She has taken the birdcage out

and set it next to her book.

Although she is leaning over her papers

busily sorting,

her head almost touches the side

of the cage where Sanctuary sings.

The snowy finch, unaccustomed to

a change of location,

eloquently expresses gratitude

with exotic new trills.

I like to think it's gratitude, anyway.

According to Erik, the equator is responsible

for the warm winds converging in our yard.

The Amazon, too, is hovering somehow

in the trade of sparkling humidity.

It's all got to do with an arc of heat

coming up from South America.

There is also an arc of time.

As I watch Jenny, I remember my childhood

in a tropical garden.

When I was little, I use to think

that someone was minding me

when actually I was alone.

I'd often turn quickly, a friendly greeting

half spoken,

to see who it was.

Looking at Jenny now, I see myself then,

listening to bird calls

and tilting my head,

trying to catch a glimpse

of the future hurrying by.

~~~~~~~~

...may the via dolorosa not appear on your map this day...