Food of Loathing

I made myself a meal
and forced it down my throat.
It sounded so great,
the recipe so perfect.
Who could resist
a self-pity pie.
Filled with empty longing
and baked with abandonment.
No one even knows
that they made me eat.
I play the victim once again
and bring the fork to my mouth
And suddenly as I'm ready to vomit
the realization comes over me
in waves like nausea
no one forced the fork
to my eager mouth
it was my own hand,
my own tears and strife
that went into the pastry.
Yet I blame everyone else.
When I should have been
baking for them.
Mixing up batches of love cakes
and pouring out kindness sauce.
If I'd only stepped out of the kitchen
for a moment,
I might have seen earlier,
that the need is great.
And I live in a bakery.
I have been pretending far too long
that I have been starving.
In truth, I will be fed much more
of the milk of human kindness
when I offer the glass to others.

Grief is Great

"But please, please-won't you-can't you give me something that will cure my Mother? Up till then he had been looking at the Lion's great feet and the huge claws on them; now in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion's eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared with Digory's own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself.
The Magician's Nephew
C.S. Lewis

Wide

Even as a child I knew
deep in my being and bones
I'd never be happy
with a commonplace life.
That's not to say I don't
like simplicity, or order.
But I know,
I knew
I know that it will never
satisfy me to be the little woman
who folded up big dreams
and tucked them away
with old sweaters and photos.
No, that will not be my lot.
I crave adventure
experience
thrills.
But direction is another thing
there are so many paths before me
leading up mountains,
down valleys,
to harbors and ships ready to sail,
into forests,
across plains.
And I stand here ready
to take your lead,
waiting.

It is well

I seek you in the morning

The morning is my recluse
I open my eyes to a dark world
still wrapped in slumber.
It is in this quiet
in this stillness
that if I listen closely
I find you;
between the lines in a worn book.
Hear you whispering in my ear.
Feel your sudden rush of warmth.
Or your refreshing cool.
Surrounded by your song
that all creation sings.
Some days I hope
that eternity will be
forever morning
standing in the beauty and brightness
of your dawn.

Cold Nights

Sometimes I remember you.
It is always something small
insignificant
that brings us to mind.
The song on the radio
the color of my pajamas.
The feeling of someone else's touch.
The knots in my back
and the flutter in my chest.
Suddenly I am back in those days
back in the snow shivering
in the middle of the night
waiting for you.
You were always so warm
I still don't understand it.
Or was it just that I was cold.
That my heart had seized up
letting the rest of my body
slowly freeze.
Then I'd melt into you
wishing you could cover me
like a blanket.
Even then you weren't enough though.
Before I knew it I would be cold
again, standing there in the snow
and wondering
what exactly I was doing.