I rose at four a.m.
Wished for some new
Deliverance of food
Of which I’d found deceit
Never thought to eat
Words upon pages
Of poetry, my daily
Food of thorough
For nothing upon day
Which to watch moon
Beams bouncing through
My glass window, edged
With frost, outside ninteen
Below Fahrenheit, bluster
Wind sliding with permafrost
Air digging into bear oak floor
With my stocking feet, toes
Curled into crevices, joints
Where slats come together
Forming my night into day
Only light switched on,
Now I could see upon snow
Slick with crust of ice
Crust upon night turned
To sliver of first light
How did six turn
From clock to seven
Where went night
Into day, hallucination of four
Thirty a.m. I padded my way
On kitchen floor, toes cureled
Up, floor could be so cold
Only oatmeal bowl steeming
With raisins, brown sugar,
Lump of butter, melting
Before my eyes, I stired
With teaspoon, cooled
With my breadth, dove
With spoon head-first
Mouth around metal upper
Lip of small ladle, oh teaspoon
Of fine oat witnessed my
Taste buds, eyes to morsals
Steaming ino mouth
My first bite against
Flightless morning,
Only now gaining on hungar
Pallet, esophagus, slide
Into empty lining expanding
Hungry I emptied bowl
Delight, followed by same
Teaspoon into carton
Of yogurt, beauty
Of rosy strawberries
Suspended in gel of
Light milk, mild then
As taste cooled my
Waiting tongue more
Gracious, I’d forgotten
Prayer of thansgiving
For juice, oatmeal
Yogurt, milk,
Brown sugar, raisins,
Laddered hunk of butter
Oh God thank you
For food, Jesus Christ
Who died that I might
Be delivered oh Holy Spirit, tommorow
To peer into January snow, thus
Food, into my being, from
His Being, sanctity of kitchen
I gave depth of thankfulness.
C2018
