“Heart Hunger”
Under eggshell skies,
With no yolk sun in sight,
With breezes scented maple bacon
And buttered cinnamon toast,
I sit with an empty plate.
An empty palate.
Not with a full stomach,
But with a fool’s heart.
The leftovers of raindrops
Dripping like grease on my torn and tattered jeans.
Staining my sweater
And soaking my skin.
I am fast to break away
But too slow to cut the cords.
Grass below my bare feet,
Like the blades of a fork
Impaling my steaming meal.
It makes my mouth water like the rain earlier that morning;
Leftovers from the storm the night before.
All the roaring thunder that covered up my cries.
For that, I thank Mother Nature.
In these hungry times,
She is the woman I think of when I feast.