Eating Poetry

EATING POETRY

A poem by Luna Jaffe

———

My days

are dark and numbered

moist with winter rain,

confined by this

plague of grief

that has wrapped its sticky arms

around the belly of our world.

The only

nourishment

I can metabolize,

curled in a fetal position…

Am I almost newborn

or dead?

is the grace and pith

of poetry.

The silky words of Rilke

slide down my throat,

soothing the ache,

tenderizing my insides,

reminding me that I’m on

a path well worn by the bare feet of

sorrow.

Oliver, Rumi, Hafiz, Nepo

their shards of truth,

their conversations with tree & seed, wing & wave,

enter me like the slow,

thick drip of honey

coating the red, raw places

with their sweet nectar.

A mala of hope,

borne from a keen eye

and deeply felt

suffering,

poetry compels me

to remember

who I am,

where I came from

and how to drink from the well

of exquisite beauty

that surrounds me.