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Posts Tagged ‘hunger’

 

 

 

Of course it was awful, what he did, chopping

up his son to serve him in a stew to the gods,

confused somehow about sacrifice.

 

After that, the gods never let Tantalus be nourished again.

He was forever made to stand in a pool of water

beneath a fruit tree, its branches low hanging.

 

And whenever her reached to eat the fruit, sweet and ripe,

the branches would rise. And whenever he tried to drink,

the clear water would recede.

 

There are many kinds of prisons. Some

have iron bars, cement walls. Some deprive

you of your senses. But the gods knew some look like paradise.

 

Haven’t we all been confused before?

Haven’t we all made misguided sacrifice?

I’m not trying to defend Tantalus. I’m just saying

 

we all understand hunger. And no matter how many times

the branch is taken away, it is survival to want the fruit,

to reach, to reach again.

 

to see the image, click here

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Ursa Major

 

 

 

Like the bear in the darkness

scavenging the campground

for chocolate bars,

I, too, long for sweetness.

It keeps me awake,

my hunger. I lumber

through these summer nights,

hunting, my senses alive.

Don’t let morning come soon.

I swear there’s a hint

of sweetness here somewhere.

 

 

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One Unfillable

 

 

 

still hungry

the thousand thousand mouths

of loneliness

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Devourer

I was born with ten thousand mouths,

all of them hungry. Feed me,

I said to the lake, and it spilled into me

its deep green and its months of ice

and its forgotten bottom. Feed me,

I said to the hill, and it filled me

with shadows and stones

and the tunnels of mice. Feed me,

I said to the mountain, and it served me

glacier and couloir and avalanche paths.

And still I was hungry. Feed me, I said,

to the book, to the priest, to the tree,

to the moon, to the man, to the boy,

to the song, to the earth. And I ate

and I ate and I ate and still I was hungry.

Feed me, said the world. And I did.

I fed it my heart, my hours, my eyes.

And for the first time, I felt full.

I was born out of loss. Year after year,

I took the world into me. At last

I find myself in the world.

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In the Nest

Three open

beaks, oddly

pink, bony.

Their silent

hunger pre-

historic.

Some of us

learn it is

safer to

hunger in

silence. And

some of us

learn that with

so many

mouths and so

many hearts

to feed, it

feels safer

not to list-

en.

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This Morning

like a cat beside an empty
bowl, I look
at you

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