Dining with the Chorus
I eat edge and void. My eyes trace the menu - tower, ditch,
I murmur an urge.
I eat, afraid but willing to engage in this exploration - bug, furious,
a storm began.
I eat eat the green, tastes of green upon my lips oh -
my god eating a fury of bitter liveliness - fleshy, breath,
fingertips just graze.
Our daughter sighs in memory of first tongue, and of the early ecstasy
full full full, a child full.
Later - so I eat the game and the pages and the connectors but wait,
I’ve been over this before - eat again again - choice, marquee, a poison dart.
I eat the money and the car and the mortgage I eat the crime and the smile of the little unnamed girl across the street. I eat the talk and the screen and the tiles and the taxes. I eat right and then left, I eat the pedicure and lightening in the same sitting! Eat eat like the day-o, like the nightingale, like the poet. I eat electromagnetism - all forms, some delivered to my home, others coppered - friction - stored for when.
Oh daughter, she sings of appetite,
and as Bee-Queen motioning at the drones around her she sleeps.
So formidable. We wait for her to stir,
for her widen eyes to narrow - she cannot yet see her real food.
And I eat as if my life depended on it. My precious time, my precious passing time -
rattle, gold, my dreams so real
my dreams gripped - can they be tendered instead? palm up?
Here, daughter starts. She examines, begins the inquiry.
Daughter is not yet refined and done, watch her question her hunger - her direction
And it begins - listen listen.
And an appetite is a good thing in balance, right? And in view - right? And built to last … right?
Well….. . . . when St Peter and St Michael take my inventory
and ask for that list of what might be called - loaves and fishes,
I hope my answer is full.
And so friends, at that time our daughter will be carried away on the wings of her deeds
and by the fire of her intention.
Born-child into the hope of change as are all who are willing -
for who would want to stay small and closed? Who would want only -
one small same way?
Regina Coll lives in the Metro DC area. Her work has appeared in Little Patuxent Review, 2River Review, Lines and Stars, Blood Orange Review, and Emerge Literary Journal. She was the founder of the Bathroom Poetry Project in Takoma Park, MD and is interested in observation, planning, and re-use.
These poems were submitted for the 2020 WFD Poetry Competition