Grandmother Oven

I am calling to your rising hunger

to the fresh thirst of each day

even as you are still being digested by your dreams

I am already cooking

I am already preparing your feast

gathering aromatic bundles

to flavor this body

to feed it back to itself

through your mouth

small songs escape me to deepen the broth

to temper the salt of sweat and tears

to harmonize the flavors of this ocean soup blood feast

eat of this body

this daily bread

I am nothing if not consumed

by your life’s insatiability

the long road of seeking

leads finally to your open mouth

my child, my children’s children

my walking flowering song body home

being this body of words and herb bundles and yarn

only to be cooked inside my singing

only to be a meal for your wildness

to call another day of breath

back from the edge of rampant dullness

do not think for a moment

my boiling blood is not insulted

by those meager meals of plastic phrases

do not think

I am not starving with our uninitiated gluttony

eat of this body

it is your own hunger that feeds me

only in your heart’s stomach

can i live forever

only in your thirst’s song

am I eternally reborn

listen,

I am clanking the pots

listen, I am warming the kitchen

i am calling to your hunger

listen,

my child’s child

and you are already fed by my song