Baby by Patricia MacLachlan

I read a beautiful book tonight . . . sad, but in a healthy, lovely sort of way. This book is filled with beautiful words, Patricia MacLachlan's, as well as others.

"It was quiet outside, warm and peaceful. No clouds cluttered up the sky. Lalo and I sat in the grass with Sophie, playing patty-cake.

'She knows how,' said Lalo with an amazed smile.

'All babies know how,' said Byrd. She looked at me. 'Someone who loves them always teaches them.' (pg. 24)"

"Most of all she remembered the man. His hands, strong, brown. She could feel the rumble in his chest when he held her, the sound of song coming up through him and surrounding her, making her smile. Even now she smiled at the thought of it. Sometimes in a crowd of people she would hear a voice, turn, look for him. It was not so much his face she looked for. it was his hands she remembered. (pg. 33)"

"All the world can be found in poetry. All you need to see and hear. All the moments, good and bad, joyous and sad. (pg. 61)"

" 'Poetry is just words,' I said.

'That's all we've got,' said Lalo.

I stared at Lalo. The rain came harder.

And when I left Lalo and ran up through the wind and ran to my house and opened the door, Mama and Sophie were at the kitchen table, Sophie covered with finger paint, her fingers squishing the red on the white paper. My mother turned, and on her face were tiny finger marks where Sophie had touched her. They had dried there as if she had left her marks on Mama forever. They both smiled at me, and Sophie reached out her hands to touch me too.

Ms. Minifred's wrong, I thought, as I left my slicker dripping in the hallway and went to join them. There are no words for this. (pg. 62-63)"

"They read books, Sophie talking and turning the pages and pointing. Byrd's voice was smooth, like the velvet of her hat.

'so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white chickens.'

'That's William Carlos Williams,' Byrd said to Sophie.

'She doesn't understand,' I said.

'She doesn't need to understand, dear,' said Byrd. 'She likes the way the words sound.' (pg. 80-81)"

" ' I love you Lark,' said Papa. 'I love you.'

'Love,' said Sophie, touching Papa's mouth.

I thought about that word, love, with Papa's arms around me. That word with a life of its own, traveling out over the town, over the water, out into the world, flying above all of us like the birds.

Love. (pg. 97)"

I have loved all the books I have read by Patricia MacLachlan. She has a powerful way with words. I love how this book has so many references to poetry of different time periods (How do I Love Thee by Elizabeth Barret Browning to Fog by Carl Sandburg), as well as several songs that fit the story wonderfully. It has reminded me how much I love poetry.