My baby, newborn, knew so much arithmetic, <br />knew the theorems of Xeno before it calculated <br />its first step. Knew all the letters of five alphabets <br />consecutively and backwards, knew so much it was <br />competing with twelve year olds to reach the gilded podium <br />of the venus fly-trap orators. Although it could speak brillantly, <br />it could never walk upright. I questioned the headmaster <br />of a famous school where children were taught to identify <br />their bones, asked how my baby was doing. 'Splendidly', <br />he replied, 'it has earned a Q, U, and R on its varsity sweater.' <br />I asked how it was walking. 'It is not walking. It is crawling <br />over the hills of a field, examining every vein of every fallen leaf. <br />It is being spoonfed mashed pomegranates.'<br /><br />MARINA GIPPS<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/savant/
