I woke up hungry this morning.
The truth is I am always hungry.
My hunger is like an elephant
riding my shoulders and I cannot
put him down. On sunny days
I hunger for rain, for the way
the sky splits into thin bits
and the stream rises, lapping up
the land. When storm clouds
gather and drops sputter
like hot grease across my window,
I ache for oven hot days
when the sky spreads blue
on the bread of my face.
Oh, I am always, always hungry.
When the wind blows, my mouth
seeks calm. When the air hangs
still, I want it to whirl. When
all around me people dance and sing,
I want only a pen and ink and silence.
No one can be as hungry as me.
When the movie ends, I want it
to begin again. When the weeds grow,
I want to yank them all out.
When small red berries cover the ground,
I curse them. For they will never fill me,
not if I picked for a million years.
When I read a poem, I want to stuff
the words right into my ears. I want
to swallow voices whole. I want
to gulp an ocean of souls. I want
the world to simmer and pop
to my own time, to swell my belly,
to make it an ocean wave rising.