Q.

You and I sit around a board with wood pieces in front of us,

And more wood pieces scattered out that,

When put together,

Form sounds,

That form syllables,

That form words.

I look up at your glowing brown eyes and smile,

Laying out my tiles.

C-H-U-T-Z-P-A-H, I proudly proclaim

And then proudly claim the 77 points.

Your brow furrows with concentration

And I swear I see a bead of sweat trickle its way down your forehead.

Your eyes light up and you glisten as you lay them out,

The perfect word,

Using my U you spell Q-U-I-X-O-T-I-C,

And smile.

Your laugh then echoes out,

One of the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard.

As the game goes on I look down at my wood pieces,

The ones that have letters,

That form syllables

That form words.

And I notice a letter I have not used,

The ever so useless,

Letter Q.

Q words shoot through my mind,

Quiet, quizzical, quotient, qualm

As I hold the ten point piece diligently in my palm,

I look at the board and see no U’s,

Nothing to pair with my useless Q.

It is quite quizzical to question,

The use of the letter Q,

As it rarely ever appears without it’s partner,

U.

So I put it back and leave it on the stand,

The game comes to a close

And I put it back in the bag with all the other wood pieces,

That have letters,

That form syllables,

That form words.

We lay in bed that night and I hold your hand,

We look at the stars through the skylight,

I smile and look into your deep brown eyes,

Your face illuminated by the moonlight.

To fill the space between us,

I begin with letters,

That form syllables,

That form words,

And say a few words to you,

“Life is a game of scrabble,

And if I’m the letter Q,

The only thing left that I need,

Is U.”