Desert Mouths

And I kept saying, water! water! Not because it was there, but because in LA it’s not there. And it gob-smacked you at first, until you started repeating it too. Our dry, slack mouths moving like little fish taking it in … letting it out. We both colluded to allow any residual word droplets to band together in order that they should rise to the top for a pop(!), blop(!) on the surface, ceiling, or sky… whatever you want to call it in Kansas City. What’s it called in Bangkok? It’s the place most of our un-canned prittle, prattle, gusts, &puffs go to disappear. I can only describe it as a place of complete and inexplicable absorption. Cities, words, life, – everything swallowed up.

for Real Toads


21 thoughts on “Desert Mouths

  1. I love this piece, Angie. there is a momentum to the description which is not so easily achieved in a prose poem. I am all too familiar with drought and water shortages, rationing etc and reading this description gave me a universal feel for the problem.

  2. Water. An invocation of emptiness. Yet we keep calling it forth, as if could manage that. What’s not there is not there. And yet we “prittle, prattle” on. Angie, you show such incisive understanding of what we are and what we’re not.

  3. Oh – you’ve captured the summer’s in the south – when you walk outside and it’s a brick oven – and some summers with no rain. I’ve recently moved to the mountains and it seems to rain everyday! But even so, I’m off to get a drink of water now 🙂

  4. hey Angie, I’ve been in a word drought – sorry for not having visited in a while.

    this is so cool. I must have channeled your vibe (maybe being a sort of LA resident, though I didn’t read yours until now) – with the prose, and Bangkok, and water.

    thanks for adding your voice ~

  5. Angie if you need some water I’d be SO happy to supply some from our overflowing ditches here in La (that being Lousiana, not California lol)! I feel the heat too, but it is a wet heat – I imagine quite different from the dry one you describe. Thanks for the prose poem!

Type your words here:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s