My student shows pictures of two
shapes on a slide: one spiky and
shuriken-like, a ninja star that might
be used as distraction, to inflict
poison or a minor wound. The other has
juicy, rounded edges, somewhat resembling
the poppy which is the signature of
a famous Finnish designer. One of these
is Kiki and the other Bouba, used in cross-
cultural language research since the 1920s.
But have you ever been in a situation in which
all you work so hard to do seems to merit
only Kiki sounds, every day? They sputter
from the mouth of the fault-finding boss,
who can't even remember what she said
yesterday. Not even the smallest Bouba-
shaped grace note crosses her lips. She
probably wouldn't know one if she saw it.
I think about her and the word slap
when a roach skitters across linoleum tile,
antennas, forelegs, hind legs bristling. Outside,
Kiki-shaped leaves begin to change color. Then
they fall, pointy fingers splayed out against
the sky's round basin of cool, metallic blue.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
