FEAST
Monday, December 15, 2003Soft
in my mouth
As I mash and taste with my tongue
And this emptiness deep in the pit of my stomach
Gnawing; growing; gathering
Anything into it to fill this hunger
I am left peeling skins
Unraveling onions
Pulling petals from plants
To throw into the fire
To pluck out something of which to taste
Because my heart starves
My soul craves
And I cry:
Feed me!
Lay your hand against my stomach
And feel the rumble
Gaze down at the empty plates of our tables
Let us escape to some other kitchen
And together
Cooking, boiling, and simmering
Feast
Then afterwards
Still starving
Let us lick the salt from our fingers