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feast on your life
make a meal of it
gorge yourself on half-remembered hurts
stuff your mouth with half-forgotten shames
eat until your body is fully filled
with your self
feel your hunger
when you approach the table
to feast on your life
look before you eat
eat first with the eyes
see the scars
see the encroaching, familiar, inevitable
(who would have believed?)
infirmities
even as you compensate for them
with (and thanks for this)
your glasses and your hearing aids
but look beyond these surface signs
search for trauma and joy
seek out the highlights of your life
and after you revel or cringe
or wallow in sorrow
begin to uncover the parts
hidden in shallow shadows
forgotten until this day
when you seek them
for the feast of your life
the sunny day in May when you were 12
the slippy slide of a newly nylon nightie
(oh, the novelty of nylon!)
when you were four
look deeper and you might
remember bird chorus in the park
just after dawn
feast on the sight of snow
the rambunctiousness of arms and legs
making snow angels
make an hors d'oeuvre platter of summer evenings:
those darkening warm outdoor nights
alone or with friends
and mosquitoes
add spice to your feast
with the joy of hand-making:
think of fabrics spilling over the worktable
and scrambles of paper on the desk
that shift color as you riffle them
now enrich your meal
with the music of the feast
and know that, however great its beauty,
what you hear is but a pale imitation of
the music of the spheres
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