Water and Salt by Jane Steckel Orignally Published in The Scribbler All the water and salt I wasted bawling in bed could make a sea and raise the bed-frame like a ship. The wind I squandered in argument would fill its sails, keep it skating over whales and under terns. In Antarctica I'd find a land frigid as the heart I couldn't move. In the Sahara I'd feel a desert more desolate than I was left. I'd harness dolphins to pull my sea-car, write my plaint in giant squid's ink. I'd send it by seahorse to my agent, become a famous maritime author who noted the tide, caught the wave. Then you'd be sorry.