This is what writing is: I one language, I another language, and between the two, the line that makes them vibrate; writing  forms a passageway between two shores.
—Hélène Cixous, “Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing”

She sings the letters/ to my daughter, strings them/ marigolds into garlands/in the order of the alphabet

Divya Victor Sanctuary

I had to look up the word locution because I was not sure what it meant. I thought it possibly had something to do with locomotion, or movement and motion in general. Maybe it had something to do with the making of beautiful sounds, or learning the meaning of sounds and communication. Maybe it had something to do with how people talk in specific places. Maybe people learned about it in school one hundred years ago.

If an alphabet are stars on a map to a distant shore, then locution is a constellation and we are all explorers not quite sure where we are headed when we learn to read and write. In this way each word, each sound, is a coordinate toward a new location — toward new understanding. This rings true to the little girl inside me that remembers traveling between shores as reader and writer. This still rings true to the women with more than 51 years of life who continues to read and write and explore.

I know a few things for sure about the space between locution and location. It is a profound space of curiosity and safety and warmth. It is a fluid space where past, present, and future live and grow. It is a familiar place like home and habit and ritual. It is a joyous space where my memories dance with my days.