The pull before you give it a name. What the body has been wanting while you negotiated with it.

Hunger

Late spring opens an appetite. This week we name what we want, without polishing it, without apologizing, and notice what we have been calling by other names.

Each face in the street is a slice of bread
wandering on
searching

somewhere in the light the true hunger
appears to be passing them by
they clutch

have they forgotten the pale caves
they dreamed of hiding in
their own caves
full of the waiting of their footprints
hung with the hollow marks of their groping
full of their sleep and their hiding

have they forgotten the ragged tunnels
they dreamed of following in out of the light
to hear step after step

the heart of bread
to be sustained by its dark breath
and emerge

to find themselves alone
before a wheat field
raising its radiance to the moon

Bread

Each face in the street is a slice of bread
wandering on
searching

Describe a thing you stopped letting yourself want.

I had to stop believing in dreams
like a true fanatic
the child in me had to grow taller 
a mature woman needs sturdier ground
my imagination sits at the crossroads 
it keeps me alive when life is scarce
but I no loger live in the castles of air
I had to let go my mother’s heavy grief 
I am opening my ribs 
let the phantoms find their exit 
in the fading night
 let the past dissolve
as all shadows finally do 
I am stepping out  
 into the unblinking light
 so the dawn can finally be 
 truly new