Baby Babble Things

Mewling and prattling across the aisle that drives our plane into the air.
Cries that curdle milk.
Experiments with vowels, like a poet's mouthings.
A sudden quiet full of dread like the painless moment in a lull of the dentist's drill.
Tits like pale tires on the calendar in Flare's Automotive.
Sincere burblings and false exclamations and declarations heard above 600 mph white noise.
Utterances hollowed by mock fear or sudden illumination.
Tonguing the nest.
Coos and quavers and caressings even unto speaking in tongues.
Blue milk suck, everyone looking up from their book.
Cries like scissors.
Argumentative rhythms while we keep slipping through air at great speed.
Insistent reports from a previous life.
A . . . . Z