We begin with simple words.
Fat. Ugly. Good. Tall.
Gordo. Feo. Bueno. Alto.
How odd to break the world
into adjectives—
how human this longing
to describe a thing,
as if to explain it is to know it.
Easy. Big. Blonde.
Facil. Grande. Rubio.
I imagine a language
where instead of delineating
how different we are,
it had only shades of sameness.
Would we still find ways
to fight? To judge? To grade
and order and assess?
What if it were only ever a day—
not a good day, not a bad day,
just a day. And the woman—
not a fat woman, not a blonde woman,
just a woman—moved through that day
and met a man. Would they
be happier if they didn’t live
happily ever after, if they just lived,
their hearts not even knowing
you could fill in all that lovely silence
with adjectives and adverbs—
it would rain sometimes.
And the flowers would bloom.
Dinner would be served.
They would look in the mirror and smile.