Questions for before, during, and after mealtime. We bite into and chew and masticate words as we bite into and chew and masticate a cookie. How do they taste to us? How hard are they to chew, to swallow? How long do we have to leave them in the moistness of our mouths before they are softened enough to go down any further? How nourishing are they? Do they provide what we need, what is needed? Do they even fill us, are we even able to digest them, or do they make a struggling route through our intestines? How will they come out the other side? What will our bodies make of them, the bodies of them? What will they make of us? Will they come out at all, or will they be completely, utterly absorbed by us, incorporated into our fibers as water into soil? What might grow from that soil, the soil of us? A tree? How tall? A minute sprig? How small? A building, perhaps a tower or a tiny hut? A city, the ecosystem, life itself–the world?
A Word about Words XI of XIII, or, Questions for before, during, and after mealtime
