She sends him away for a few hours each day
to the home of his godmother
to learn words
Imagine
how he must feel in that other home
where he learns the words
of verses, plays, sermons, sonnets
now he’s a parrot, not a poodle
he listens, listens, listens
repeats every sound he hears
from every book in his godmother’s library
The applause
when he recites at parties amazes him
just as he amuses them with his French operas,
a jumble of sound
meaningless
in my ears
They toss him gifts of coins and jewels
silk kerchiefs
the plumes of rare birds
as if he could make wings of feathers and words
instead of playing with these toys
in his cage