Pieces of My Heart

I am so hungry my hands shake. My stomach is knotted as I drive.
I am angry I have no food with me, angry at the drivers in my way.

I lift one hand from the steering wheel to see how badly it shakes
from my hunger. Then I wonder why I do this to myself.  As if I
need a reminder of growing up when there was not enough money
for groceries and my mother sat at her desk crying, wondering how
she would pay the monthly bills.  A reminder of having to eat the
awful school lunches because my dad was unemployed and we
got them for free.  We choked down the canned green beans and
mystery meats because we were hungry. We also got teased. We
were the only ones at our table to eat lunch on a tray.  People knew.

And now people comment how fast I eat which makes me feel
ashamed.  They do not know when I was growing up sometimes
there was not a lot of food on the table.  We had small portions
and if there were seconds they were only for the first ones done. 
Even when I have enough, I forget to slow down when I eat. 
But I do not comment on what folks are eating or how they are
eating it,  other than to say it looks good.  You just never know.

More important than the food in my belly are seven hungers
that haunt me, call to me like sirens.  I search among sacred
rocks, waters and trees in hope feeding the fires that burn in
both body and soul.  Walking among the jagged rocks, I cup

my hands in spring-fed waters, raise them up to a sun that
filters through ancient trees.  I watch droplets run down my
arms, creating streams on my skin, rivers on my body.  I

gather stars, daring not to drop them as I search for my heart.

I. Color

I hunger for color in the winds of autumn, in the music of
a spreading morning and in the touch of a pine tree silent
with snow.  I hunger for color in your warmest kisses,
In the breath of lilacs, in the sound of unguarded laughter.

II. Journey

I hunger for the road, this one beneath my feet and the
one beyond my sight.  To be moving, going,

III. Remembrance

I hunger for those who came before me, their story that
is my story.  That in knowing them, I will know myself.

IV. Touch

 

I hunger for the warmth of your body against mine, of my

baby's fingers entwined with mine, your hugs hello and goodbye.

V. Creation

 

I hunger for the words to spill, the colors to drip, the notes to fall.

VI. Belonging

 

I hunger for my sense of place, these places that call me home.

VII. Word

I hunger for the poetry of the soul, the stories within.