Hunger

1. Lighthouse

Against the jutting head
the sea slams in,
slams in, is unrelenting.

The sea slams in
and who am I to stop it?

As if my hand
held up palm out
could stop it.

As if wet sand
stacked up in bags
could stop it.

As if the land could stop it.

The sea slams in.

2. Grain Elevator

Or think about the harvest.

Grain pours in,
spills down, builds up in inches.

Grain pours in,
spreads out, fills in the niches,

glows in sun,

is more than a body could hope
to climb up, slide down:

is itself the color of dawn,
of itself is gold;

is something the mind can hang on to,
but no hand hold.

3. House

Or the scene is an empty house
and the screen bangs shut,

bangs shut,
bangs shut in the wind;

and the sound is caught
in the sound
the wind makes in the trees

and the way wind sucks
at windows left open and doors;

so the screen bangs shut,

and the hinges
hang loose for the cat,
and the screen bangs shut.

4. Bedroom

Or, again, you can think of a bed
where the bedsprings rust

and the frame like a gate is forced open

and the headboard gapes
like a mouth that is asking to be fed

and the light bulbs,
broken,
have nothing of light they can shed

and the floorboards shake
like a dog that has just had a bath

and the cracks begin
to unravel what once was foundation

and the roof falls in
and all that is left is the sand

and the sand fills in.

5. Laundry

Sweet Jesus, sweet Jesus, squeeze us,
wring us out to dry.

Hang these bodies, these washed out bodies,
on lines to fly
and billow like sheets in the sun.

When noonday comes,
raise the moisture that was ours to the sky

and at last, when dry,
spread us out like a sheet on a table;

with your own hand smooth
the wrinkles that our hands were unable;

with your own hands fold
and mold us, fresh smelling, to your breast;

in your strong arms hold
these bodies cleansed of hunger and fear,

and now here
and here,

bring the peace that is better than exhaustion
and a sleep that's rest.