Language is leaving us clues
that we are absolutely ridiculous.

“Awful”
once meant
full of awe.

Imagine standing
before a mountain range,
overcome with wonder,

and declaring:

how awful!

Or “inflammable,”
seems like it should be clear. 

But it’s not.

I think about this often:
how names and meanings

drift apart.

How a thing can spend centuries
wearing the wrong face.

How easily we accept it.

Perhaps every word
eventually becomes a stranger

to itself.

A sound wandering further
from its origin

with every passing mouth.

And perhaps people
are no different.

We spend years
being mistaken for our names.
Our titles.
Our reputations.

Until one day

someone learns

what we actually mean.

Not what we sound like.
Not what we suggest.
Not what history
has done to us.

But what we are.

And what a gift
to know
how little
we know.

How awful.