Poem #27: Well

Well.

There are many uses for the word ‘well’.

It has always fascinated me that,

Well, I could be well

and be in a well even as

my tears begin to well.

I found it odd that a word

could be so fluid.

I was in awe of the flexibility

of language.

Even now, knowing how limited

language can really be,

I find myself again

puzzling over ‘well’.

Because being ‘well’

can mean so much.

Hello, how are you?

Oh, I’m well, thank you.

Its ambiguity astounds me.

But that is the price of language, I suppose.

There is no way to describe

what truly is

without experiencing it yourself.

Then tell me,

why am I here,

writing a bad poem,

about language no less,

to you?

Well.