by Andrea Simon 

Words are my life,
Not just to speak my thoughts,
Not just to free-associate with my shrink,
Not just to count backwards before anesthesia.
Words are the actors in my poems,
The plots in my short stories,
The themes in my essays,
The motives in my novels.
Words are “the stream I go a-fishing in,”
The difference between existing
And living.
They should, like Hamlet advised,
Be “trippingly on the tongue,”
Flowing in glorious waves,
Not clogged in my throat,
Rotting a gap in my brain,
Causing an irrevocable impasse
Between desire and action.

When I can’t recall the word I want,
When it waves on my tongue,
I feel tortured by its closeness and
Begin a relentless game of alphabet association.
My husband says, “Forget it; it will come to you.”
For him, it’s not an urgent symptom of impotency.
I feel an expanse of free-floating nouns
Searching for verbs.
I see pronouns and modifiers
With no one to attach to
And no place to go.
My children are without inheritance,
Left with longing.

Words are my life,
And I beg the Thesaurus in the sky:
“Do not fail me,
Come to me when I beckon,
Don’t make me lose time,
Wondering what you are,
What you mean,
Where you went,
Who I am.”

Andrea Simon is a writer and photographer who lives in New York City. Her published work includes: a memoir/history, Bashert: A Granddaughter’s Holocaust Quest, now in a paperback edition; an award-winning historical novel, Esfir Is Alive; and her recent novel-in-stories, Floating in the Neversink, the winner of the 2020 New York Indie Author Project. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the City College of New York where she has taught introductory writing and creative writing. Website: www.andreasimon.net

Filed Under: Andrea Simon, One Woman's Day