trevor’s dictionary of lost words

Taki’s aakaaluk, her grandmother, sewed the three Arctic whales into a red blanket with yellow thread the color of the morning sun over the waters.

"With the beluga whale, I hope curiosity and song into the life of the baby," she whispered, "For the beluga look quizzical in the way they hold their heads and sing songs that cause us to call them the canaries of the sea.

With the narwhal whale, I hope compassion and empathy into the life of the baby, for the narwhal will place the tip of it's own hornlike tooth into the broken tooth of another narwhal to ease it’s suffering and pain.

And with the bowhead whale, I hope mystery and endurance into the life of the baby, for the bowhead's name, Balaena mysticetus, best describes it's mysterious ways. 

Because of the cold, cold Arctic water, it’s heart beats slowly and it’s life lives longer than any other creature in the world.”

Taki looked up into the weathered faces of her parents with her deep brown eyes.

She whistled a beautiful song.

She was a beautiful song.

trevor’s dictionary of lost words

When he was two years old, his mamí talked with him in the language of poetry as she walked with him tied to her back down the long rows of tomatoes and peaches under the South Carolina sun. 

She reached down to the plants, took a tomato in her hands, and rubbed the rubbery skin against one soft cheek.

She reached up to the trees, took a peach in her hands, and rubbed the fuzzy skin against the other soft cheek.

She whispered,

Amo el trozo de tierra que tú eres.

I love the handful of earth you are.

She waited for him to talk back to her in toddling talk, to say words like “mamí” and “amo” and “tú”.

But he didn't. 

He didn't say anything at all. 

He only looked at her with wide, unblinking, brown eyes, eyes the color of the deep parts of the earth.

He jutted out his little, bottom lip as if to say, "I’m sorry, mamí, but I can’t find the words.”

People ask him, "What's your name?" or "How old are you?" or "How are you?" and he answers them with whistles instead of with words. 

People ask his abuelo, "What's wrong with him?" 

The old man simply shrugs and sighs the sigh of someone who carries heavy loads on his back and in his heart. 

"Dios sabe,”’he answers. “God knows." 

Well, I know, too. 

I am St. Brendan the Navigator, patron saint of whales and ten-year-old’s searching for their voices.

Here is his story.

trevor’s dictionary of lost words

Her feet were cracked and calloused.

They were like rocks in the ground, the ground she walked barefooted with her abuelo as he turned the earth with donkey and plow. 

She had her abuelo’s feet. 

She toddled beside him down the long rows of tomato plants and peach trees from the time she learned to walk.

He walked down those rows until his feet were broken and bent in ways that made him continuously genuflect to God, or to the land owners, or to the land itself. 

Her feet were the soil.

They were the land.

They knew the mystery of how seed and dirt and sunlight and water become tomatoes on vines and peaches on branches.

Her heart was her feet.

Her heart was the land.

Her heart was the mystery.

Her feet spoke.

Her heart whispered.

“Estoy aquí.”

“I am here.”

trevor’s dictionary of lost words

Today, one of my students created a flag with paper and some magic markers.

She is my quiet student.

Sometimes she is quiet for the whole morning, sitting silently and working diligently in the sanctuary of her seat at her table.

She never speaks to me first.

She simply stands beside me and waits for me to notice her.

She stood beside me at the end of the day, just before the afternoon announcements came across the loudspeaker.

“Hey Emily,” I said. “Do you have something to show me?”

She handed me her flag.

“Wow,” I said, “Is this the flag of the United States of Emily?”

She grinned and shook her head no.

“Is it for me?” I asked.

She grinned again and shook her head yes.

“Oh,” I said. “You are a wonderful, ingenious artist, Emily.”

I treasure gifts like this, for they come from the giftedness and the hearts of the children in my Title I school and mean the world to me.

“¡Muchas gracias!” I said.

A friend taught me that the Spanish word ‘gracias’ has an element of the word ‘grace’ in it, and I use it often when someone extends grace to me.

Emily’s artwork is one of those graces.

Look at her flag.

The five stars are the first stars that appear on crisp, cold, cloudless nights when you look up at the sky and listen to the silence in absolute wonder.

The four colors are the simplicity and depth of the earth, sky, water and sunlight.

She is a silent, simple, deep and wonderful kid. 

In the preface to the original edition of his book Awakenings, the great neurologist and writer Oliver Sacks wrote, "My aim is not to make a system, or to see patients as systems, but to picture a world, a variety of worlds - the landscapes of being in which these patients reside." 

I’ve learned to see my students, not as individual countries, but as a variety of worlds.

What beautiful worlds they are.

love poems

ode to earth

lay 

in

warm,

wet

earth

rock

back and forth, 

up and down, 

head over heels,

round and round

come

with

colors,

breath,

life

tides

She knelt

on her knees

in the water. 

She felt 

the swirl 

around her thighs 

as it moved 

back and forth

with the tide. 

She tasted 

the salt 

of the water 

as it splashed, 

caressing her face, 

touching her lips. 

She listened 

to the elemental song 

of the water 

as it shushed the evening 

with a lullaby 

for the ages. 

She looked 

with brown eyes

at the shades 

of blue water 

as it moved gently 

toward the sky.

hold each other

Kiss passionately upon the tender kiss, and tenderly

upon the passionate kiss. 

Again and again.

Make love in colors.

Yellows.

Reds.

Blues.

Oranges.

Purples.

Greens.

Primary to secondary, secondary to primary.

Create beauty.

Hold each other

so as much of your bodies 

can touch

as possibly can.

trevor’s dictionary of lost words

Simple kindness. 

He remembered a time when he was a little boy. 

He was sitting on a wooden stool in front of a broken window, looking out at the rain falling in great sheets from a cloudy sky. 

His mamí stood behind him with her arms around his chest. 

"I love you," she whispered in his ear. 

Then she walked away and returned to her work cleaning their room and cooking their supper. 

In that moment, he knew that he was loved.

He knew he was able to love.

     

Simple kindness. 

He remembered a time when he was a teenager. 

He was walking beside his papí in the late afternoon sun down a long row of beans. 

"Take my hand and come with me," said his papí. 

He took him to a tree and sat down with him under the shade of the giant branches. 

He took out a notebook, a notebook filled with words, beautiful words, powerful words, about people and about life, words he had written but never spoken, for he was a quiet person who spoke little and worked a lot. 

"These words are for you, my son," he said. 

Then he walked away and returned to his work weeding the plants and nurturing the beans. 

In that moment, he knew that his own thoughts and words were important. 

Simple kindness. 

He remembered a time when he was a young man. 

He was sitting at the foot of his bed. 

Gabby stood before him.

She lowered her dress to the ground. 

He saw her naked for the first time. 

He looked at her sonrisa, her smile.

It was as if the sun had risen upon him. 

He looked at her brown skin.

It was as if the rich soil of the land was before him. 

He looked at her body.

He couldn’t breathe for a moment, forvit was as if all the beauty of the universe had settled upon him.

Simple kindness.

Simple kindness. 

He remembered a time when he was a little boy. 

He was sitting on a wooden stool in front of a broken window, looking out at the rain falling in great sheets from a cloudy sky. 

His mamí stood behind him with her arms around his chest. 

"I love you," she whispered in his ear. 

Then she walked away and returned to her work cleaning their room and cooking their supper. 

In that moment, he knew that he was loved.

He knew he was able to love.

     

Simple kindness. 

He remembered a time when he was a teenager. 

He was walking beside his papí in the late afternoon sun down a long row of beans. 

"Take my hand and come with me," said his papí. 

He took him to a tree and sat down with him under the shade of the giant branches. 

He took out a notebook, a notebook filled with words, beautiful words, powerful words, about people and about life, words he had written but never spoken, for he was a quiet person who spoke little and worked a lot. 

"These words are for you, my son," he said. 

Then he walked away and returned to his work weeding the plants and nurturing the beans. 

In that moment, he knew that his own thoughts and words were important. 

Simple kindness. 

He remembered a time when he was a young man. 

He was sitting at the foot of his bed. 

Gabby stood before him.

She lowered her dress to the ground. 

He saw her naked for the first time. 

He looked at her sonrisa, her smile.

It was as if the sun had risen upon him. 

He looked at her brown skin.

It was as if the rich soil of the land was before him. 

He looked at her body.

He couldn’t breathe for a moment, forvit was as if all the beauty of the universe had settled upon him.

Simple kindness.

Simple kindness. 

He remembered a simple kindness when he was a boy. 

He sat on a wooden stool in front of a broken window, and looked out at the rain falling in great sheets from a cloudy sky. 

His mamí stood behind him with her arms around his chest. 

"I love you," she whispered in his ear. 

She walked away and returned to her work cleaning their room and cooking their supper. 

In that moment, he knew he was loved.

He knew he could love.

     

Simple kindness. 

He remembered a simple kindness when he was a teenager. 

He walked beside his abuelo in the late afternoon sun down a long row of tomatoes. 

"Take my hand and come with me," said his abuelo. 

He took him to a tree and sat down with him under the shade of the branches. 

He took out a notebook, a notebook filled with words, beautiful words, powerful words, about people and about life, words he had written but never spoken, for he was a quiet person who spoke little and worked a lot. 

"These words are for you, my nieto," he said. 

He walked away and returned to his work weeding the plants and nurturing the tomatoes. 

In that moment, he knew that his own thoughts and words were important. 

Simple kindness. 

He remembered a simple kindness when he was a young man. 

He sat at the foot of his bed. 

Gabby stood before him.

She lowered her dress to the ground. 

He saw her naked body for the first time. 

He looked at her smile, her sonrisa.

It was as if the sun had risen upon him. 

He looked at her brown skin.

It was as if the rich soil of the earth was before him. 

He looked at her body.

He couldn’t breathe for a moment, for it was as if all the beauty of the world had settled upon him.

Simple kindness.

look, listen, question

Look.

Listen.

Question.

Little Salt looks at the world with a looking heart.

He listens to the world with a listening heart.

That’s how I first learned of him.

“There's a boy who looks and listens with his heart," came word over the water. 

“Maybe he is the one who can see us.

Maybe he is the one who can hear us.

“Maybe he is the one,” sang the whales.

“When he was a little boy, he drew a picture of a bowhead whale,” sang the bowhead whale. 

“A bowhead whale's blubber is over two feet thick, so it can withstand the Arctic cold,” wrote Little Salt under that picture, “And it can create it's own breathing hole by breaking through ice up to one foot thick.”

“He drew a picture of a blue whale,” sang the blue whale.

“A blue whale's heart is as big as a Volkswagon Beetle,” wrote Little Salt under that picture, “But it's ears are the size of the point of a pencil." 

“He drew a picture of a sperm whale,” sang the sperm whale.

“For many years, oil from a sperm whale's head was used to provide light for people,” wrote Little Salt under that picture, “And people measure the strength of light in lumens, which is the light of one spermaceti oil candle." 

“He’s ten years old and he can’t speak,” sang the three whales. 

“He hasn't spoken a single word in his whole life. 

He whistles.

We can understand his song.

He can understand our song.

We are looking for him.

We are listening for him.

People ask his abuelo and mamí, ‘What's wrong with him?’ 

And his abuelo and mamí simply sigh the sighs of people who carry heavy loads on their backs and in their hearts and answer, ‘Dios sabe, God knows.’

We know, too. 

We want to tell you so you will know. 

That's life, right? 

To know and to be known. 

See.

Hear.

Know.”

ears of the heart

Taki put the palm of her hand on the trunk of the tree.

"When I was a little girl, my aaka, my grandmother, held this hand and walked me outside of Point Hope," she said, "and talked with me about the plants around us, the ones people can and cannot eat, the ones people can use for medicine.

This, Little Salt, is called the Balm of Gilead tree."

Little Salt looked closely at the buds on the lower branches of the tree.

He breathed in deeply the sweet smell of the resin.

He whistled at the wonder of it all.

"Balm of Gilead resin can soothe a cough or keep a small wound or cut or scrape from getting infected.

Maybe it could help a mute boy talk, huh?

You can rub the resin on your skin or gargle it with warm water.

It helps burns and sore throats.

It grows here, even out of the hard, cold ground.

Look at the heart shaped leaves. 

They remind me that the heart is the place where we learn to share, cooperate, take responsibility, avoid conflict and respect others, all the qualities the old ones try to pass along to us.

Aaka told me, she said, 'Taki, these are the values of the People. 

They keep hearts beating in this frozen land.'"

She closed her eyes.

She put her ear on the smooth, light brown bark of the tree.

"I hear the tree," she whispered. 

"It’s saying, 'Take only what you need from nature. 

Use what you have to help others. 

Always speak your own language.'"

Little Salt put his hand on Taki’s hand on the tree.

He closed his eyes. 

He put his ear to the leaves.

the holy city

Once

I walked along 

Queen Street 

into the middle 

of downtown Charleston 

to the waterfront park 

at the harbor.  

As I ambled 

the cobbled street 

past Poogan's Porch, 

Mother Emmanuel,

and Meeting Street 

I thought 

about the Civil Rights Movement history 

of Charleston.  

Tourists huddled 

around tour guides 

hearing stories 

of the places 

and people 

of the old city.

Patrons of pubs wobbled

with their arms around each others shoulders enjoying their pints of beer,

their glasses of wine.

Reservers of restaurants stood

In small groups together

waiting for their shrimp and grits,

their low country boil.

A young black man sat 

in solitude 

on top of a table 

on the harbor walkway 

weaving flowers and crosses 

out of sweet grass 

in the way 

of the Gullah people.

I wondered 

that sixty some-odd years ago

Judge J. Waties Waring heard

Thurgood Marshall’s plea

and was despised 

by the high society folk 

of the city 

and was offered 

a one way train ticket 

out of the state 

by the South Carolina legislature.  

Do I still ask the old questions - 

What does it mean to be human?  

How can we weave a more human world 

for everyone?  

I wonder.  

I breathe.

I hope.

Lost Words Dictionary

Clouds of dust rise from the hard, dry ground with each stroke of my hoe.

Three seeds fall from my hand into small, hollowed holes in the ground.

My bare feet step over the stony field, calloused and broken from a lifetime of playing, working and living without shoes.

The hoe is an extension of my hands.

I seem to be growing out of the ground, deeply rooted in the soil.

“God formed people from the dust of the ground,” says scripture.

I’m stooped and working, planting the fields that will help people live, and I smile.

Now I understand.

blue whale

Little Salt had small ears. 

Well, they were less than small. 

They were minute. 

He used to be self-conscious about them. 

When he stepped into a classroom for the first time, his glasses slipped off one of those ears and hung crooked across his face. 

Everyone laughed.

His ears weren't big enough to hold his glasses.

"We come from a family with little ears but big hearts," said his abuelo one day as Little Salt was moping down a row of tomatoes, thinking about the laughter of his classmates. 

"Good thing you don't talk. You can use your brain for listening. Your ears won't help you much.”

As he grew older and fell in love with whales, though, he discovered that blue whales, which are the biggest animals to have ever lived on earth, have ears the size of the point of a pencil. 

"The blue whales know how I feel," he thought. 

And that made him feel better.

He did have a big heart, though.

Literally. 

One day, when he was a toddler, he fell at the end of a row of tomatoes and bruised his ribs on a jagged rock. 

His abuelo and his mamí took him to the free medical clinic. 

His abuelo wrapped his arms around him and placed his giant calloused hand on his chest to keep him still. 

He took quick, shallow breaths because if he breathed slowly and deeply his whole body hurt. 

When they looked at the x-ray, Doctor Maria exclaimed, "His ribs are bruised but, my God, look at the size of his heart! I've never seen a heart so big in a child so small!”

An echocardiogram confirmed it.

"It's rare in children,” said Doctor Maria, "But his heart in enlarged because his heart muscle isn't squeezing well and his heart has grown bigger to compensate. 

The good news is, we can treat him.

The bad news is, he won’t be able to play professional fútbol.

He'll have to use his heart in different ways than other people.”

Later, by his bedside, his abuelo said, "I want you to have listening ears and a big heart, mi nieto. 

It seems as if nature is helping my wish come true. 

Don't you worry. 

I'll always love you just the way you are. 

You're perfect to me and for the world."

He kissed him lightly on the forehead.

It comforted him again when he learned that a blue whale has the biggest heart on earth. 

It's as big as a Volkswagen Beetle.

"I have a heart like a blue whale," he thought.

He smiled.