rarely am i ever not hungry

i walk to my mother’s house
for lunch.
she bakes chicken
and roasts potatoes.
she steams broccoli.

we watch a show
and then we talk
for a while after.
she lets me
ramble on.
she listens to me.
i talk and talk.

when i decide it is time
for me to leave,
she gives me a bag
filled with cookies
she has made.

i walk back
to my small home.
i sit down
on my small seat.

not really hungry but
also never not hungry,
i open the bag of cookies.
like a child
i eat as many
as i am able.
still a child
i eat all that i am

there is no one here
i need ask for
no one here
who will tell me

a red mug steams prodigiously in a small streak of sun.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: