When my daughter leaned her head against her father's as he spoke,
she said his voice seemed to come from both his throat and chest,
almost like in overtone singing— The singer manipulates the vocal tract
to make it seem like more than one pitch sounds at the same time.
She said his voice seemed to issue from both his throat and chest.
Each word reverberated: one note split across two registers.
It seemed his voice plucked more than one pitch at the same time,
a kind of counterpoint to widen the effect of saying, or singing.
Each word brightened, reverberating across two registers.
In the kitchen, after cooking, a shimmer of oil still hangs in the air.
A counterpoint is one way to widen the effect of saying, or singing.
Sounds from the road or the river at night also make a kind of singing.
In the kitchen, the heat's turned off but a shimmer hangs in the air.
A note of garlic remains, even after I've washed my hands at the sink.
Sounds from the road or the river at night also make a kind of singing.
The fingers that hold my pen smell of both words and the world.
Herbaceous or mild, any overlay of scents on just-washed skin—
Like in overtone singing, when the singer manipulates the vocal tract,
what overlapping riches we hold in our speech and in song. It's what
my daughter heard, leaning her head against her father's as he spoke.