You called me a wordmonger
with great affection,an endearment.
I knew when you said
I was your favorite writer
you meant it,
not just because you were
my husband.
But it’s ironic
like calling
a fat person Slim
or a short person Stretch.
Wordmongers toss words around
willy-nilly.
Mine are so deliberate
stitched and hand dyed
Turkish rugs perfect on both sides
suitable for kneeling in prayer.
The term conjures
fishmonger.
I imagine myself:
an open market
selling vowels, consonants
and assorted punctuation
weighing whole sentences
at a dollar a pound.
The scent of fish
transports me:
Jesus multiplying
loaves and fishes.
I just want to feed the world.
Wordmonger.
~~~
Photo Credit: Wine jug and food © Photowitch | Dreamstime.com
© 2010 by Joyce Mason
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