Recently, I read an interview with the awe-inspiring Gloria Steinem, who was promoting her new book, “My Life on the Road.”
She said, “If you poured water on a great poem, you would get a novel.”
So, I grabbed all the cups and bowls in my apartment. Filled them with water. Filled my bathtub with water too. Filled my palms, pressed together with water. Filled my mouth with water and held it there, with my tongue and breaths.
Grabbed my poems. The ones in books and the ones still forming bones.
And then. I poured water on them. Dumped them into bathtub, let liquid smear all the words and lift them off page to swim. My verbs were doing the breaststroke.
I grabbed a new one that is still being written and threw it into my mouth with sink water and spit. Let my throat deal with the crowd of language vibrating against vocal chords and teeth.
Thought about how much string I will eventually need to sew each page together to make up this novel.
What would the title be and will it make sense? What if no one reads it? What if it has no ending?
Doesn’t matter. There is enough water to keep feeding the words to keep filling the pages to keep drinking up to turn into something to make people feel to make me feel……..to extinguish my thirst.