Words

The words! I collected them in all shapes and sizes, and hung them like bangles in my mind.   Hortense Calisher

Words are like shoes on the hooves of a horse, crafted by a blacksmith, marking the earth as she gallops, the earth a ready piece of paper.

Sentences propel me forward. I walk a mile with the word love on the tip of my tongue. I love the way the sun circles my chin. I love the way light lets me see the little Shih Tzu ten yards in front of me. Love mixes with my saliva creating a wet kiss. I kiss the cheek of a friend than wipe at it with my index finger leaving only a bit of residue. I will kiss her again when it dries!

The word God rests in my palm, relayed to the bark of a tree I touch. I imagine gnomes in the trunk tunneling beneath the roots mining for ore. I shake Christy’s hand. God rests between us. God rests inside us. God brushes my ankle like a lizard looking for shade beneath my pant cuff.

Words are bees. They can produce honey or sting.

They make names and reference points. My friend Pat lives with two cats, Tikka and Lily, in a one bedroom condo below a Spanish tiled roof. The three of them watch the moon from the patio, steady in the sky, winking in response to their stare.

Even wordless words still attach to me. A person says of me, “she toppled to her left, landing on the grass a foot away from the picnic table.” Words will later feed me potato salad and slices of cheese.

I am glad for the scratch marks produced by my pen and for the Times New Roman that marches across my monitor as I punch the letters on my key board creating, yes, words.